No More Random Goils!
by Eavis
Summary: Spot Conlon is getting pretty tired of all the random girls showing up, all wanting him, so when someone offers to get rid of them in exchange for a bunk, he accepts. So then what? Will this one end up getting kicked out too?
1. Chapter 1

The Brooklyn dock and water were usually crowded with newsboys, but this day, as was becoming usual since the strike, the dock was crowded with girls.

Not news girls, dirty-faced and plaintive, hoping to bum a few bits off the boys there, or to go through the pockets of castoff shirts while the shirts' owners were in the water; but glamourous girls, gorgeous even underneath all the bruises and welts their cruel step-fathers and fiancés had given them.

These girls were crowding the dock for one reason and one reason only: to break Spot Conlon's cold exterior and make him fall for them.

Looking at the crowd of girls, and then at the small, proud figure on the stack of boxes that formed his 'throne', it might have crossed your mind that it was not quite fair, all of them against the one. But if you continued to observe, you would have seen the King of Brooklyn begin to hold court for the day.

Two burly newsboys came and stood, one on each side and a little in front of, the throne.

His Majesty nodded and a girl came forward, giggling and walking like a barmaid. In a breathless, titteringvoice she began to tell her story. She had had a cruel father, he kicked her out, she had no place to go, she had been lost and starving on the streets, she wanted to become a newsie, etc, etc, etc.

Half-way through her (obviously memorized) speech, Spot nodded to his boys and they picked the girl up, clonked her on the head, and threw her out to sea.

The exact same thing happened with the next six girls, with very little variation. All of whom were shocked and astonished that their idol's "cold, steel blue 'Squee!' eyes" had not immediately softened at the sight of them in their pitiable (and yet still stunningly gorgeous) state. The seventh girl Spot allowed to stand to one side for further interrogation later.

Another twelve or so girls went into the water, and then a rather different looking girl came forward.

Spot had, in fact, noticed her earlier: it was his business to notice anything and everything that went on in his territory, and he had marked her when she first appeared among the crowd of girls.

She was not dressed like the other girls were, in alternately scabber or strange tight fitting clothing, but was dressed in loose fitting shirt and pants, dark suspenders, and a cap like all newsies wore. Looking closer, Spot could see at least one knife, if not more, concealed about and in her clothing.

As with many of the girls, she had long hair, but unlike them, it was not up in some ridiculous fashion that wouldn't stay up in a fight, nor was it down in an equally ridiculous fashion, always getting in the way, but back in a sensible braid.

In fact, were it not for the fact that she appeared, like the other girls, out of nowhere, Spot might have taken her for a newsie.

As she came forward, she did not try and launch herself at him, or hold a staring contest: facts Spot appreciated enormously (though he did like winning the staring contests). Instead, she came to a stop two feet in front of him, took off her hat, bowed, and replaced it.

He nodded for her to begin her story. She glanced back at the squee-ing crowd of females, and then again at the King of Brooklyn.

"My name is Jeans. I have a business offer to make." Spot, although, of course, his face showed none of it, was slightly startled. He was not used to business offers. Other offers, yes. He motioned for her to continue.

"My offer is this. You take me in and show me all the tricks and schemes of the newsie trade, and I make all these-" with a disgusted jerk of her thumb at the girls behind her - "disappear, and not come back. What do you say?"

Spot leaned forward.

"Prove it."

Jeans grinned, suddenly looking like a hungry wolf just about to eat a plump rabbit.

"It would be my pleasure." Then she turned, (so her back was to a pile of boxes and not to him, he noted) and addressed the girls.

"By the power vested in me by the Sue Hunters United, I will now proceed to defenestrate you." And with that Jeans pulled a book out of the bag on her back. At the sight of it, all the girls on the dock, save two, moaned, yelled, and disappeared.

With a triumphant smirk, Jeans turned to Spot. He smirked back, then spit in his hand and held it out. (This was a sort of test, as over half the girls that made it past the first test were grossed out by spit shaking) Jeans spit in her own and clasped the leader's in it.

Then Spot stood up and turned to the two girls beside Jeans. One was looking rather dazed; the other merely impatient.

"Yeah, Dash, what is it?"

"Jacky-boy want youse ta go help him. He's got 'bout thoity. Ise told him you had at least fifty of youse own, but he was near desperate, so Ise told him I'd see 'bout it. Now youse goils is gone, youse gonna help him?" Spot nodded.

"Take her over dere-" he indicated Jeans- "git the goils out, an den bring her back here. She'll bunk wid youse. Ise'll take dis one wid me now." And motioning the other girl to follow him, he started off the dock, when Jeans broke in.

"Excuse me, and I don't mean to be rude, but I was wondering how me helping this Jacky-boy is part of our deal." Spot slowed and turned.

"Foist, youse my newsie now, and Ise youse leadah. Dat means youse'll do what Ise say." His face broke into his famous smirk, "De moah favors Ise do foah Jacky, de moah he owes me. And dat'll come in very handy when Ise need some help."

"Help? Mr. Conlon, I had no idea that word was in your vocabulary. Unless, of course, you were using it to taunt someone who was in need of it."

Spot merely shot her another smirk and replied, "Ise was usin' Ise collectively, meanin' me boys too. And-" he added as Jeans smirked back and turned to follow Dash, who was restless: "None of me newsies call me Mistah Conlon. Just Spot." Jeans nodded and hurried to follow Dash.

At the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House (a seemingly undeserved title), Jeans repeated her defenestration performance, with the same results, but before she left she handed Cowboy a book identical to hers and told him something in a low hurried voice, something that he brightened immensely on hearing.

After they finished, the two girls headed back to the Brooklyn Lodging House. Taking Jeans upstairs, Dash opened the door on the left. Going in and flopping down on a bunk, the Newsie put her hands behind her head and looked up at Jeans, who was lounging against the bedpost.

"So. Where're youse from?"

Jeans shrugged. "I've moved around a lot. How long did it take Spot to realize there was something wrong with all the girls that kept showing up?"

Dash shrugged in turn.

"Afta de foist two goils de rest of us figured out sumtin' was up, and afta we ditched de goils Spot recovahed and caught on, and so we'se started clonkin' em on de head. I'se done some of dat myself." And she smiled reminiscently.

"Which bunk can I have?" Asked Jeans, changing the subject a little abruptly.

Dash waved a hand airily.

"Oh, any one youse want. 'Cept mine."

Jeans turned and dumped her stuff on a bed.

"So," Inquired Dash as she watched lazily, "Why is youse called Jeans?" Said girl replied,

"Because I'm tough like them. How many girls are there here? And whose bunk am I taking?"

"One, youse'll have to prove dat. Two, besides us, and de goil wid Spot, dere's four others. Three, youse'll have to figure dat one out on youse own." And the grin that accompanied this statement was not particularly comforting.

Then Dash closed her eyes and went to sleep.

Jeans headed downstairs, there to meet eight or ten boys hanging around playing games and smoking. There was an awkward pause after the preliminary introduction, then Jeans offered to teach them how to play a new card game. They accepted and she sat down and began to shuffle the cards.

Upstairs the girls' room window swung open. Without opening her eyes Dash asked,

"What'd youse do wid the other goil? She a fake?"

Spot dropped to the floor.

"Nah, she went in downstahs. Jeans is teachin' de boys a new card game."

"Dat's good. Pokah was gettin' old, wid Sharp winnin' all de toime."

Spot nodded and came to lean against the post of Dash's bed.

"So whaddya think 'bout Jeans? We'se gonna have to ditch her soon?"

Dash shook her head. "We'll have to see, but a lot is gonna depend on herself. Youse know, wether she gets along or if youse is gonna halfta be pullin' her outa foights all da toime. Ise nevah figured out why dose goils seemed to think gettin' into foights was da way to impress youse. Dey weren't very broight."

Spot took off his hat and wiped his forehead.

"Ise nevah figured it out neither. Afta all, I ain't the sort dat gets ito unnecessary foights, and whoile fightin' scabbahs is one thing, foightin odah newsies and even youse own mates is too much."

Dash nodded assent. They were silent together for a while, then a slam of the downstairs door told them that the rest of the newsies were back from selling.

In unspoken agreement the two leaders moved to the door and downstairs.

"Youse da goil leadah, youse introduce da goils." Spot muttered.

"Naw, youse da leadah of all of us, it's yoah job." Dash shot back. Spot grunted reluctant acquiescence, but on reaching the bottom of the stairs found the job being done for him.

Under the guise of introducing the other new girl to the Brooklyn Newsies, Jeans was meeting them herself.

Glancing at each other, Spot and Dash moved closer. Hearing what Jeans was saying as she introduced the other girl (and incidentally herself), they exchanged another glance, this one amused.

"Vade, this is - what is your name? Rock, Rock, this is Vade. Short for Evade. She's new.

Vade, this is - remind me of your name?- Sharp. Sharp is one of the six girl newsies here, so I'm sure you'll be seeing a lot of each other. Now, you are? Ah yes, Pinch. Pinch, this is Vade, and don't even think about stealing her purse, for one because it hasn't anything in it - I already checked - and two because we're going to sell together and you don't want to mess with my partner."

"Well." Dash remarked, "She shuah fits in good. DId youse see Pinch's face? I give da goil a point foah dat. Any one dat can upset dat smooth talker is woith keepin'.

Spot nodded agreement and watched, tapping his cane end gently on the floor as Dash moved off into the crowd of newsies. He would have labeled Jeans as different if his experience with girls-that-appeared-out-of-nowhere had not given that word a derogatory tilt. Most of the girls he had called different had ended up falling in love with him and consequently expecting him to rescue them and soften up around them and crazy things like that. He would have liked them better if they could have been more like Dash. Dash was a great sister and a great newsie.

As Spot marked the way Dash was fully in control of herself and everyone else even while mingling, he reflected that it really made things much easier that Dash _was_ his sister. Her pride in her big brother prevented her natural ambition from taking over and making them rivals, even though as a Conlon, she probably could succeed as well as he at being a leader.

With a shrug the Brooklyn leader roused himself and banged the end of his stick against the floor for attention.

"Now, we'se got two new goils. Da tall dark one's Vade and da short blond's Jeans. I'se expect youse all to treat 'em wid respect and youse'll all help 'em loin (learn) fast. Roight?"

With a rousing cheer the newsies agreed and then went back to their games and cigars.

* * *

After the mad rush called supper, Jeans headed up to the bunkroom, fully intending to flop down on her bed and get all the sleep she could before her first day selling in Brooklyn. As she entered the room, however, she found a slight complication. There was a girl standing beside her bunk with her arms folded and a scowl on her face.

Jeans turned and looked at Dash, who suddenly decided the ceiling needed inspection. Jeans sighed and turned back to the girl.

"Hi. I'm Jeans. It would seem you would like to say something to me, and I guess we might as well know each others' names before anything explosive happens. What is your name?"

The other girl's scowl deepened. "Ise Fire, but I ain't interested in sayin' nothin' 'cept wid me fists." And she held up one said fist threateningly.

Jeans didn't seem to see it. "Really? How very skilled you must be, I find it hard to say things with my fists. I generally have to use my mouth. Why did your fists need to say something to me, exactly?"

"'Cause youse trash is on my bunk." Fire said, disregarding the former part of Jeans sentence.

"Oh! Well, there is a very simple solution. I'll move my trash. Could you direct me to an open bunk?"

Somewhat caught off guard by the non-combative acceptance of her attempt to start a fight, Fire answered warily,

"Yeah, but dere's just one. Youse and da odah (other) new goil is gonna hafta foight ovah it."

"No, I don't think that will be necessary, Vade," Turning to the taller girl, "Do you mind sharing a bunk with me? I promise I don't kick." Vade shrugged.

"If you don't mind me kicking a bit, no."

Jeans nodded. "Good, that's settled then." As she dumped her stuff on the empty bunk Fire asked with a sneer in her voice,

"Youse afraid of a foight?"

The smaller newsie straightened slowly. "No, but I don't see the point of a fight, unless you want to make Spot mad. From what I've heard he isn't fond of his newsies getting into fights, especially with their own borough."

Dash stood up from her bunk and stopped whatever sneering remark Fire had been about to make by saying,

"Jeans is right, Fiah. Youse know Spot don't like foights in his borough. Now get to bed and let dat tempah of yoah's simmer down a bit."

Fire scowled, but obeyed. The rest of the newsies soon followed suit, and there was silence.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two-First Day At Work

* * *

The next day began with the door slamming open and Spot Conlon's voice yelling to both rooms of newsies,

"Get up, get up, any newsie dat ain't up in thoity seconds gets a soakin'."

There was some irritable grumbling, and one or two pillows were thrown at the leader, but everyone was up in the alloted thirty seconds.

Heading down to the Distribution Center, Spot motioned Dash over, "Look heah. Ise need youse to teach da new goils da tricks. Ise ain't doin' it myself."

Dash grinned. "Youse mean youse don't want one of da goils gettin' to youse and youse'll go round looking like a lovesick puppy." Then seeing her brother's hand move to rest on his cane she hastily capitulated. "Shuah, shuah, Ise'll do it." She skipped ahead to catch up with Jeans and Vade, who were walking together. The two girls looked up as she came in between them.

"Goils," Dash announced, "Today youse is gonna get da rundown on bein' a newsie. De foist rule is, always be polite to youse customers, Second, pity's da key. Remembah dose two rules and youse got it."

And with that she skipped back to walk with a dark haired and dark eyed newsie commonly known as Alto. The two she had just abandoned looked at one another and shrugged.

"So." Vade said, "I guess we're selling together. What's our plan? Based on Rule Two, which of us looks more pitiful?"

Jeans laughed. "That depends on what you mean by pitiful. No one, - well, at least no girl- could ever feel sorry for you." That was true. Vade had long black hair pulled back in a low ponytail, large brown eyes that had a look of perpetual surprise, and a tall graceful figure.

"I think," Jeans said, "I would be the best choice for that line of work, being short and not stunning, so I'll take the little old ladies and you take the men, all right?"

"Wait just a minute!" Vade protested, "I think we should split the goods. If a sucker comes along, we pull a "Oh look I'm bullying the poor little girl" and we should enlist the help of one of the boys to help with that one."

Jeans grinned. "Great idea. Did you have anyone in mind?"

"Oh." Vade said hesitantly, "I thought maybe that really nice one we played cards with last night. The big one."

"Bully?" Jeans asked.

"Yeah."

"Great. Let's go ask him."

On hearing what they wanted, Bully agreed immediately, and they stepped up to get their papes.

_(Allow a Digression)_

Brooklyn had never had the problem Manhatteners had with nasty circulation managers, but Brooklyn made up for it by having twice as many rotten alleyways and dirty characters in the alleys as Manhattan. Many newsies had run into trouble in these alleys, therefore Spot had taken to letting none but the strongest into Brooklyn, sending the weaker ones to Manhattan or the Bronx.

_(End Digression)_

But I digress, and in the time it has taken me to tell you all this, the two girls and Bully have got to their selling spot, and made sure no other newsies were going to dispute their right to it. (That was another way Bully came in handy.)

"Hey Jeans, here comes someone that fits into the "always be polite" and "sucker" categories." Vade called, pointing towards the middle of the park. The other two newsies looked where she was pointing and saw a harried looking mother trying to gather four or five children from around the pond and get them home.

Jeans shook her head. "I'm not so sure about sucker, but she does look like she could use some help. I've got this one." And handing Vade all but one of her papers she strolled over to the woman.

"Good morning, Ma'am, awfully early to be out, are all these children yours?"

The woman looked up. "Yes, all these children are mine, and if you're trying to sell me a paper it won't work, I haven't enough money for such things. All my money is used up on these kids."

Jeans smiled engagingly. "I thought that might be the case, ma'am, so I decided I'd come and help you a bit, since my line of business is slow this morning. Whoa, watch it there!" This last remark was directed to an energetic youngster who would have taken a header into the pond if Jeans had not caught him by his shirt and held on.

"Well, I certainly could use the help," admitted the mother. "We live three blocks down, 134, first floor. Robert, stop pulling your sister's hair!" again directed to the energetic youngster.

Sensing that this boy was the cause of most of the trouble, Jeans winked at his mother and leaned down and swung him to her back. Grinning at him over her shoulder she said in a conspiritoral whisper, "Let's race mamma home. You say 'go', alright?" Robert grinned back. "Go!" He yelled, drumming her sides with his heels. They took off. Three blocks later they stopped in front of a tenement house, well ahead of the others. Jeans lifted the boy down. "Do you want to buy a paper?" She asked him. He nodded enthusiastically. "Do you have a penny?" Jeans pressed. He shook his head mournfully. "Oh. Well, you may have this one anyway, as a present. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow?" She asked, looking inquiringly towards the mother, who had come up with the other children.

"Perhaps. Say goodbye and thank you to the nice lady, Robert." The mother said. Robert, to Jeans' surprise, gave her a hug. "Thank you for de ride." He said.

"You are very welcome. I must get back to selling now." And Jeans set off for the park. She got there in time to see an excellent piece of stage work unfold. A handsome young gentleman was walking toward the bench near the pond when a scream interrupted his steps.

Jeans saw him turn around in search of the source, and clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing as she saw what he would observe in another second. Bully had picked Vade up clear off the ground, and to all appearances, was threatening her angrily. Then he tossed her aside easily and picked up all the papes she had dropped when he picked her up before running into the crowd.

The young gentleman was instantly at her side, solicitously inquiring after her well-being. Vade tearfully assured him that she was well, but she didn't know how she was going to make ends meet with all her papers gone, and she without any money to buy more! The young man assured her that he would be happy to pay for all the papers she had lost, and after indignantly saying that it was too bad young girls couldn't even pursue their means of livelihood without being assaulted by bullies, asked how many papers she had had before that hooligan got them. Vade, still sniffling, said "Oh sir, it is so kind of you, I had two hundred sir, I can't tell you how grateful I am, sir." "Then that would be two dollars, correct?" the man asked, reaching into his pocket.

"Well," Vade said, looking doubtful, "actually, sir, I already sold two this morning before that bully took the rest, so it would only be one dollar and ninety-eight cents."

The gentleman patted her arm and said what a good girl she was for being so honest and gave her three dollars. Vade was profuse in her thanks and after the man left motioned Bully and Jeans to come over.

"A dollah each?" Bully asked. Vade nodded. "Sure 'nough. You spose that would work twice in a row?"

"Probably not. We had better just sell these papers for a while, and maybe we can try it again later on." Vade agreed, and took Bully's arm as they moved toward a group of business men just getting out of a breakfast meeting. Jeans ran after them and got her papers from Bully, then let them go their way while she yelled out the headline for three hours.

At the end of three hours Jeans was hot, hungry, and still had twenty papers left. Bully and Vade were nowhere in sight. She supposed they had gone to lunch, and decided she might as well do the same. But as Jeans was on her way, the inevitable happened. An Unsavory Character accosted her. Two Unsavory Characters, actually.

"Hey doll." Said the shorter one. "Youse new around heah. What borough are youse from?" Jeans put her shoulders back, her chin up, and said, "Brooklyn." The boy immediately doubled over laughing. "Yeah right, like Conlon's letting midgets in now. Dat's da funniest ting I evah hoid."

Jeans stood quietly, her face impassive, but her hand was creeping toward the knife strapped to her hip. The boy's taller companion obviously didn't think it was that funny, and he elbowed his comrade in the side. "Where are you really from?" he asked with a frown. Jeans grinned back. "I told you, Brooklyn. You need to get either your hearing or your brains checked. As for your gracious friend there, I'm only two inches shorter that Spot Conlon, so I don't see that I'm especially short for Brooklyn. What borough are you?" The two boys looked at each other, then the horizontally gifted one sneered "That ain't none of youse business." Then the skinny one elbowed him again and they walked away.

Jeans shrugged and continued on to Tony's, where Dash had told her she would usually find most of the newsies that had enough money for lunch. Sure enough, she found Vade and Bully sitting in a booth with Dash and Alto. Jeans pulled a chair from another table and sat down at the table's end.

"Heya Jeans. How'd youse foist day go?" Dash asked.

"Well, I still have twenty papes, but I can try to sell those this afternoon." Jeans looked at Vade and Bully, who had not even noticed her, and cleared her throat loudly. They looked up quickly, and Vade grinned. "Hey Jeans. We looked for you to tell you it was time for lunch, but the boys crowding around you were so thick we had to give up." Jeans rolled her eyes.

"Sure, sure. I hear you. You know very well that you would have had twice as many around you if Bully hadn't scared them off." Vade stuck out her tongue and went back to Bully.

"So Dash, how was your day? Alto?"

"Pretty good. I still had foive left, but I just gave dem to Charmah Boy heah and they was gone like dat." She snapped her fingers. Alto grinned at the girl beside him and responded,

"That's not fair. You might have given me five of yours, but when I gave you eight of mine when that bunch of college students came by, they were gone even faster than that."

Dash grinned back as Jeans inquired, "You're from Spain, right, Alto?"

He nodded. "And yourself?"

"Like I told Dash, I've moved around a lot. My parents were English and German, though."

"How did youse know wheah he was from?" Dash asked.

"His looks and accent, but mainly the name. It's a very apt description." Jeans ended as she looked at the boy's tall frame exhibited even in the long arm he had carelessly draped across Dash's shoulders.

Just then there was a stir in the restaurant and Jeans, turning her head, saw Spot enter. He sauntered in and looked around. Seeing his sister, he headed over to her table.

"Heya sis. Move ovah. Vade, Alto, Bully, Jeans, how's it goin'." He sat down and glanced around the table. Vade and Bully, after acknowledging the greeting, went back to talking about whatever it was they were talking about, and Dash and Alto followed suit. Jeans had her chair tilted back, an air of abstraction surrounding her. She noticed Spot's gaze on her, thumped her chair down and grinned at him.

"How'd the foist day go?" he asked, returning her grin with a smirk.

"Can't complain. Or at least, I'm not going to. I still have twenty papes."

Spot raised his eyebrows. "How many did youse get?"

"One hundred."

"That's pretty good. Youse gonna try and sell the rest this aftanoon?"

Jeans nodded. "I think I've lost my selling partner, though." She motioned to Bully and Vade, who were completely unaware of anything other than each other.

The corner of Spot's mouth quirked as he asked, "How'd they meet?"

"Oh, I admit it, it was partly my fault. He played cards with us last night, and this morning when we needed a big guy for the guilt trick Vade suggested him. Five minutes after starting selling I left them alone for fifteen minutes, and it was all up from there, I guess. But it's all good. I don't mind selling alone." Jeans ended with a shrug.

"That's the way it goes." Spot said. "I bettah get some food befoah they run out." He stood up, making Dash look up, and then with a glance at the time she said to Alto, "We'se bettah get back to sellin'. C'mon." And standing up, she grabbed the arm that had been over her shoulder and pulled him, protesting and trying to grab a last bite, out of the restaurant. The results of that commotion was finally enough to wake up Vade and Bully, and they stood up as well.

"We'se need to leave too. If youse don't mind me stealin' youse partnah, Jeans?" Bully asked a little anxiously. Jeans laughed and shook her head.

After they left she glanced at their food. It was nearly all still there, and she casually pulled Vade's over in front of her and began eating her coleslaw.

"Stealin' food? They put youse in the refuge foah that. Youse want to buy somthin', instead of stealin' food from yoah friend?"

Jeans started, and dropped her forkful of coleslaw onto her lap.

Spot sat down with his food and took a complacent bite out of his hotdog. Jeans glared. "You did that on purpose," she accused. "Besides, it isn't stealing to take leftover food from restaurants. Look it up. It's in the lawbook. Look under 'laws for providing starving orphans with food'. If you don't find it there you can look under the table. I don't want to buy any food. I'm trying to save all I can."

"Oh yeah? What are youse savin' it foah, Christmas?" His sarcasm was plain, but Jeans answered him anyway. "No, I'm saving it to buy a book."

Spot's eyebrows went up again in disbelief. "A book?"

Jeans nodded and repeated a trifle defiantly, "Yes, a book. I suppose, being Spot Conlon, you know what a book is."

"Yeah, I know what a book is. I was wonderin' what chucklehead would waste money on a book when they could buy food."

Now Jeans raised her eyebrows. "And what else would you suggest I buy?"

The smirk was back in place as he shoved Bully's leftovers over to her. "Food. And then a slingshot. Hurry up and eat and I'll take youse to the best place in awl New York to get a sling."

* * *

Thank you to all who reviewed and added this to their story favourites list!

I do hope this new chapter meets your expectations, and I will try to get more out soon. Any and all feedback is appreciated, especially about the original characters.

Bekah, I hope things have slowed down to your liking! The first chapter did cover a lot, I know. It should be more reasonably paced from now on.


	3. Chapter 3

Jeans hastily bolted the rest of her food, and with another quick swallow of root beer, went and stood by the door, twirling her cap impatiently.

Spot finished his lunch at a more leisurely pace and then stood up.

Jeans turned to push open the door, but Spot was there before her. "Allow me," he said, taking off his cap and sweeping a low bow. Jeans raised one eyebrow, but then grinned and bowed in return. "Oh, no, great leaders before humble minions. Besides, you're the one that knows where we're going."

Spot put his hat back on and pushed open the door. "Point." Hone threw back over his shoulder.

His "humble minion" hurried to catch up. "I've noticed your slingshots all have the same mark. Does whomever you're taking me to see make them all?" Jeans asked as they were walking across the park she had sold in earlier. Spot nodded.

"Yeah, but only I know whear the place is."

Jeans looked puzzled. "But when you take them to get them, won't they know where it is?"

"I don't." Spot replied briefly, "I've nevah taken anyone there befoah."

"Then why are you taking me?"

"You won't be able to find the place again anyway, also, so fahr youse been a good newsie goil."

"How do you know that? Maybe I've done something desperately wicked, and you don't know."

Spot looked at her. "I've got the important things covahed. You ain't thrown youself at me, youse didn't lie bout the number of papes you got, you didn't say anything bout those goons you ran into, you ain't got in any foights I'd have to pull you out of, and you ain't blown up in my face. Satisfoied?"

"Perfectly, but I didn't think I'd done anything different from what all newsies do. I came here to learn and to serve, and I'm working on both."

There was silence for a moment, then Spot said, "You didn't ask nothin' bout how I knew bout those guys."

Jeans shrugged. "Naturally, you had someone shadowing me. I'm not such a fool as to think you'd let me go wandering around Brooklyn without knowing what I might do or go. Whomever it was was awfully good, I didn't see anyone shadowing me."

To Jeans' surprise Spot laughed. Not smirked, but actually laughed. He stopped and spit in his hand and held it out. Jeans looked down at it, then back at his still-grinning face.

"It's for real this time?" She asked. Spot nodded, and she spit in her own hand and clasped his in it.

"Welcome to Brooklyn, Jeans." He said, and then with the familiar smirk back in place, he began walking again.

"So now that I'm officially Brooklyn, can I ask you a question?"

"Shuah, but I don't promise to answer."

"Why do you wear a key?"

"Powah."

"And mystery?"

"Goil, mystery is powah. Why do you weah a key?"

Jeans looked down quickly, but the key was still safely tucked under her shirt. "How on earth did you know that?" She exclaimed.

"You don't weah a key foah yeahs (years) yourself without knowin' how they look undah a shoit. Now answer the question. Why?"

"I guess you could say it was for power, but it's more for hope." She pulled it from under her shirt. "See the lion's head on it?"

Spot leaned forward. "Yeah."

"Well, for me lions are symbols of hope and love. And faithfulness."

"Those are things most kids ain't got."

"Yeah. I just wear it inside my shirt so it doesn't get lost or stolen or anything. I like being able to feel it."

Shortly they came to a dark alley and Spot stopped. "We toin heah. It can get rough, so stick close."

As they went in, they were instantly assailed by all manner of foul odors. There were drunken men - and women - sat, stumbled, and lay all over the place. There was a garishly lit building on the left, from which issued raucous laughter and the sound of glass breaking. Spot walked past all the people and noise without stopping or turning his head. He went to the end of the alley and turned onto a tiny street full of houses that Jeans would not have seen if Spot hadn't turned there.

A few yards along the street they stopped at one of the small, crowded houses and Spot knocked. In a minute the door opened and the last kind of person Jeans would have expected stood in the doorway. It was a tiny girl about three or four years old. Her face lit up on seeing Spot and she launched herself at him. He caught her and whirled her around a couple times before setting her back down and saying, "You'd bettah go tell your momma I'm here."

The little mite ran back inside, crying all the while, "Mamma, Slingshots' here!"

Spot motioned Jeans up the stairs. As they went in Jeans muttered, "Slingshot?" Spot shrugged. "That's all I come foah. They wouldn't know Spot Conlon."

Seeing Jeans still looked confused, he added, "You'll see." Then a tapping sound was heard in the corridor and a woman that looked about twenty-seven came into view. She stopped short of the newsies and said, "Dolly didn't say you had someone else with you, Slingshot." Spot stepped forward, pulling Jeans with him."This is anodah newsie that needs a sling. Name's Jeans. Jeans, this is Selene."

Jeans stepped forward with her hand outstretched, then stopped as the other woman made no move to return the gesture. Jeans looked at Spot questioningly, but he just said to Selene, "Can you show her your woik?"

Selene nodded. "Certainly. Come along, Jeans. You too, Slingshot." She turned and began tapping her way down the hall again. Spot started after her, and Jeans hurried to catch up. She looked about her curiously as they entered a room near the end of the hall.

There was a rocking chair, a table, a fireplace, and several sharp knives and other tools on the table, as well as some forked sticks and strips of leather. The little girl, Dolly, was standing by the fireplace, but as soon as Spot was fairly into the room launched herself at him again.

With a grin he caught her and tossed her so high she was in danger of hitting her head on the low ceiling. Then with a "See you latah." he disappeared out the door, tickling Dolly until she shrieked with laughter.

Selene smiled as she lowered herself gracefully into the rocking chair. "That boy needs to play with children more often. He is much, much too uptight. Jeans laughed and said in agreement, "Yes, he certainly is too uptight, but I have never seen him more relaxed than he is with your little girl."

As soon as Jeans began speaking Selene's sightless eyes darted to her face, and when she ended she exclaimed, "Why, you're a girl! And Slingshot never told me. How exactly like a man. But are you really a newsie, my dear? You haven't the accent."

Jeans came further into the room and sat down by the rocker. "Yes, as of two days ago, I'm a newsie. As for the accent, I wasn't born in New York, and furthermore had a schoolteacher for a mother. You can blame my vocabulary and grammar on her as well."

"Where is your mother now, dear?" Selene asked. Jeans looked away, even though she knew the other woman couldn't see her face. "She and my father took our family out West. Father wanted to start a church in the gold mining country. They'd prayed about it, and it seemed it was God's will.

"Just as the church was beginning to have more people in it than only our family, my father was killed trying to persuade a drunken man to come to the service. My mother moved back East with all of us, except my oldest brother, and started a bakery in New York.

"My other siblings got married or moved out, till only I and my youngest sister Ella were left living with my mother. Ella moved in with my oldest sister and her husband to help with their kids, and a week later my mother had a heart attack and died. The doctors said it was from overwork. " Jeans looked back at Selene and attempted a smile. "So I guess the short answer to your question is my mother is in heaven."

The woman in the rocker smiled warmly, and one of her hands reached out and began stroking the head by her knee. "Why didn't you go to one of your older siblings? Surely the would have taken you in."

"I'm sure they would have if I had asked them, but I didn't want to bother any of them. Also, and I guess it was silly, but I always wanted to try being an honest newsie, if that isn't an oxymoron, and when I heard about the problems the Brooklyn leader Spot Conlon was having with random girls showing up, I realized I could help him and make a bargain with him at the same time. My help in exchange for a bunk, so I tried it and it worked."

Selene gave the bright head at her knee one last pat and stood up. "Well, Slingshot will be back soon, and he will expect us to be trying to find you a sling, not sitting here chatting like two women. Come and see my collection, and we'll find the one that suits you best."

So they left that room and entered the next one. As the Jeans saw what was in the room, she let out a soft "Oooh." This room had three tables in it, one on each wall. There were no windows, and no fire. The tables were covered with slingshots and walking/fighting sticks all laid out neatly, along with pyramids of shooters.

"Selene, it could take me hours to try all of these!" Jeans exclaimed, walking over to the opposite side of the room and picking one up. Selene just smiled tranquilly. "That one won't work for a Brooklyn newsie, my dear. The one you want will be on this table. Try this one."

Jeans came over to the table Selene indicated. As she took the slingshot she confessed, "I'm actually not very good at shooting these things. I've always been better at throwing knives."

Selene handed her a shooter. "Try. Aim for the furthest table leg."

The newsie shrugged and fitted the ball into the pouch. She aimed at the leg and released. It nicked it, hit the wall and rolled back. Selene nodded. "Well, you certainly aren't as good as Slingshot, but that is to be expected, as according to him he's the best shot in all New York."

Jeans laughed. "That sounds like him. When did he tell you that?"

"The first time he was here."

"How long has he been buying from you?"

"About a year and a half. Every time a newsie joins Brooklyn he comes and gets either a stick or a slingshot. He also takes ones from those other tables and sells them to other boroughs. The slingshots he sells them don't have the strength that the Brooklyn ones do."

"So how did Sp-Slingshot find you?"

"Well, Dolly was out picking up my leather for me when some boys knocked her down and began teasing her. Slingshot was selling nearby and he saw it. He made the boys apologize and promise never to do it again, then he brought Dolly home. I was so alarmed when I heard Dolly come in with someone that I ran out with the slingshot I was making still in my hand. After Slingshot explained what had happened, he asked if I made slingshots. I told him yes, that I had been making them for a vendor for a few weeks. He told me - _told _me, mind you, that I should stop selling them to the vender and sell to him instead, since he would need more and could pay me better, and besides, he was the best shot in all New York, so it was fitting that he should have the best slingshots."

"So, flattery and boasting in the same sentence. Very nice." Jeans picked the shooter up off the floor and aimed at the post again. "How old is Dolly?" The ball hit the center of the post.

"Five and a half. That was a good shot."

"Thank you. I think I'll take this one, and risk there being a better one. How much do I owe you?"

"Nothin'." Spot said from the door.

Selene turned quickly. "You are the only person, Slingshot, that I can't hear come up. It's uncanny. I was beginning to wonder where you two had got to. Did you try to kidnap him again, Dolly?"

The little girl laughed and shook her head. She was sitting on Spot's shoulders, and they both looked entirely relaxed and at ease.

"You don't owe nothin' for the sling, Jeans, I pay foah all the foist ones. You'll have to buy your own shootahs, though"

Jeans stroked the smoothly polished handle of her new slingshot, picked up a bag of shooters and said "Thanks."

Spot nodded and turned to Selene. "Is there anythin' we can help you with befoah we leave?"

Selene shook her head. "I don't think so. Except leaving my daughter here." Spot chuckled - yes, you read that correctly, chuckled, - and swung Dolly down.

"Shoot. I was hopin' you'd forget that. Sorry Dolly. C'mon Jeans, pay up and let's leave." He handed some money to Selene, and swung silently down the hall.

Jeans thrust some money into Selene's hand likewise and hurried after him. She had been doing that a lot lately, she reflected.

As they were walking back to the lodging house, Jeans asked, "What does her husband think about you coming to see his wife?"

Spot shook his head. "He's dead." then he added, "got killed comin' home from woik one day. Drunken brawl. Selene came out to meet him and got tangled up too. Some drunken fool smashed a bottle ovah her head. That's how she lost her sight."

Jeans saw his hand clench on his cane end and wisely kept silent for the next few minutes. Then all of a sudden she remembered something and smacked her hand to her face. "I left my papes at Tony's. That's twenty cents down the drain."

Her leader looked at her slantwise and smirked. "But you got a foist class slingshot. Ain't that some comfort?"

"Oh yes, especially when I haven't got the money to buy papes or food, a slingshot will be a real comfort." Jeans deadpanned.

"You said you weren't plannin' on buyin' food anyway."

"Yes, but that was before a certain King of Brooklyn came along and coerced me into buying a slingshot."

"I paid foah it!"

"Granted, but I paid for the shooters."

"I only promised to pay foah the slingshot, and that's what I did."

"All right. Let's call it quits. I suck up loosing my papes and you agree that I don't owe you anything. Deal?"

"Deal."

A couple feet later and Spot asked, "What's coerced mean?"

"Means you make me do something by using government rights."

"That sounds right. I do that a lot."

"Yep."

They were nearing the docks, and Spot took his slingshot out of his back pocket. Aiming at a row of bottles he announced his arrival by smashing them.

The newsies lounging about looked up and waved or yelled greetings. A newsie Jeans hadn't met before came over and spit shook with Spot.

"Where've you been?" he asked, glancing suspiciously at Jeans, then back at Spot. The leader understood the glance and his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Jeans hastily said, "Spot took me to get a slingshot. See?" She held it up for inspection. The other boy gave it a cursory glance and then said, still to Spot, "She any good?"

"Passable. Jeans, show him."

Jeans obligingly took a shooter out and aimed at a dock post. She let go and it hit the edge. The other boy took out his slingshot and aimed at the post in turn. His shooter hit in the middle. He turned to Jeans and sneered.

She smiled pleasantly back. "Good job. I'm better with knives, actually, so no doubt it will take me a while to get even close to your expert skill."

"This is Bullseye, Jeans. He's one of the best shots I got."

Bullseye barely acknowledged the introduction. Spot nodded to Jeans. "Show us what you can do with a knife." She took out her knife out of it's sheath on her hip and raised it to fling at the post. Just as she let go, however, Bullseye bumped her and the knife flew wide, landing with a soft 'plop' in the water.

Scarcely hesitating an instant, Jeans ripped off her hat, pulled a second knife from her boot and shoved them, with her slingshot, into Spot's hands. "Watch them, please," she said hurriedly, before diving into the water after the knife. The water was dark and not very clean, but Jeans saw, just under the pier, a glint of sun on metal and she snatched it quickly and thrashed her way back up to the surface.

Bullseye was nowhere to be seen, but Spot was still standing at the end of the pier. Jeans shook the water out of her eyes, dropped the knife on the dock, and grinned. "I guess any chance I had of impressing anyone just failed." She climbed out of the water, and Spot brought her things over and gave her a hand up. "Maybe so, but I'm glad you could swim."

Jeans raised an eyebrow. "Why, because otherwise you'd have to save me?"

"No, 'cause it would have meant the loss of a nice blade." Spot smirked, and Jeans was forced to laugh. "That it would." She pulled her handkerchief out of her pocket to dry the knife off, then let out an exclamation of disgust as she realized that the handkerchief, along with all her other clothes, were sopping wet. She looked around for something to dry it on, but nothing was forthcoming.

With a resigned shrug she picked up the rest of her things and had started towards the lodging house when she turned and asked Spot, "Where did Bullseye go?"

Spot shrugged nonchalantly. "I can't be suah, but I think he may have ended up in the watah. Accidental push with me cane in the heat of the moment, you know."

Jeans laughed, touched her cap in thanks, and went on to the lodging house. She went straight upstairs, ignoring the whistles and questions, concerned and otherwise, that the newsies in the main room gave her as she passed through.

She pulled a set of dry clothes out from under the bed and a soft cloth as well. She hurriedly ducked into the wash room and changed her clothes, then came back, and set to work drying and polishing the knives and setting they and the sheaths in the sun so they could dry.

Vade walked in as Jeans was in the middle of these activities. She looked at Jeans' wet hair and wet things and asked, "What happened?"

Jeans grinned cheerfully. "The water and I had a fight. The water won."

Vade chuckled. "I can see that. Where have you been this afternoon?"

"Spot got me a slingshot. What have _you_ been doing?" Jeans asked with a teasing smirk. Vade looked up at the ceiling innocently. "Oh, nothing much. Getting to know the newsies, hanging out with Bully, you know."

Jeans laughed out loud. "I'm sure there was more 'hanging out with Bully' than anything else. But I was thinking that it would be a good thing if you and Bully sold together after this, and I'll sell by myself."

Vade's face lit up, but she asked, "You're sure you don't mind?"

"Positive."

Vade whooped and dashed downstairs to tell Bully. Jeans sighed softly and went back to polishing her knife. She rose after a minute and checked to see if the sheaths were dry. Finding them still damp, she stowed the knives under her pillow for safekeeping and went downstairs.

* * *

There you are, m'dears! Nice, long chapter. Do let me know what you think of it!


	4. Chapter 4

Immediately one of the boys she had played with yesterday called her name. "Hey Jeans! Youse wanna play dat Mau game again?"

"Sure Poker, but if you cheat again you're getting kicked out." Jeans responded with a grin.

Poker grinned back and answered, "Youse has me pahmission to kick me out if I cheat and youse catch me in da act."

Jeans looked at the table of people that wanted to play and laughed. With the addition of Poker and another girl newsie called Sharp, the people were the same, and in the same positions, as the group in the restaurant earlier that day.

Vade and Bully were sitting next to each other, and opposite them were Alto, with Dash next to him, and Spot next to Dash. Poker went to sit next to Sharp, and Jeans, a little gingerly, took the seat next to Spot.

He smirked and passed her the playing cards. "So tell Dash and I how to play this heah game."

Jeans grinned evilly and everyone who had played before groaned. "Well, the first rule is; don't say the name of the game or you get dealt seven cards. The next rule is; don't ask any questions or you'll get dealt as many cards as I can give you before you say thank you."

Sharp leaned forward and said dryly to Dash, "Don't ya'll worry none, de next fifty rules are much easier to remember."

Ignoring the moans that followed this heartening statement, Jeans outlined the rest of the rules and then graciously said, "Now since some of us have never played before, this will be a practice round. That does not mean there will be _any_ cheating." - with a severe look at Poker and Sharp, who instantly assumed cherubic expressions.

Jeans dealt everyone seven cards to start the game. The first hand went smoothly, only interrupted once for a brief tussle when it was discovered Poker had been stuffing cards up his sleeve, but after that had been pleasantly settled the game progressed normally.

Bully won, and Jeans announced happily, "Now, since he won, he gets to make up a new rule!"

Spot tapped his cane on the table as he asked mildly, "So's that how all these rules came about? 'Cause at the end of every game there's new ones added?"

"Oh, no." Jeans said, then explained, "At the end of every game session, all the rules made are erased. The rules I explained at the beginning were just the _basic_ rules. So Bully, what's your rule?"

The tall boy thought for a minute, then replied, "When anyone plays a foive, everyone has to pass a cahd from their hand to the guy or doll on their left."

The rule was approved and a new round started.

In the middle of it Jeans sensed someone was looking at her and she casually glanced over her shoulder. It was Bullseye, and he was glaring not only at her, but indiscriminately at everyone at the table. Seeing Jeans look at him, he glared more fiercly and got up.

Sauntering over to the merry group, he said to Alto, with barely concealed hatred, "Youse got room foah me dere, or do I need to make it?"

Alto did not look up from his cards, but his facial muscles tightened as he replied evenly, "There is no room for you at this table, you will have to find another."

Bullseye shifted one more step forward and opened his mouth to make another snide comment, but before he could, Spot said in a deceptively pleasant voice, "Bullseye, Fiah started a pokah game you could join. I believe it's your turn now, Jeans."

Bullseye hesitated, and Jeans could see everyone at the table tense, waiting to see if he would disobey this implicit dismissal, but then with another glare at Alto, he went to the other table.

Jeans played her card and then said, "I don't suppose anyone would tell me what on earth that was about?"

Dash looked around, but as no one seemed about to, she put down her cards and explained, "Da long and short of it is, Bullseye didn't take too kindly to Spot lettin' goils in, and Alto wanted us to come. Dere were lotsa foights and den when us goils did come and Alto and I started goin' together, it made him even madder. He seen it as Alto was tryin' to get in good wid Spot through me. And sometimes," she finished, "I wondah if it ain't true." And she nudged Alto hard in the ribs.

He gasped dramatically and clutched at them, which nudged Poker and made him spill his drink, which resulted in a quick scuffle that dispelled any remaining traces of a tense situation.

They had gotten the game back together through the joint effort of Jeans saying things like, "could we please start the game again, 'cause I'm about to win" and "any time this year, guys" but mostly from Spot standing up and saying, "You all have five seconds to get back in your seats." Which happened in two seconds.

Vade had just played her last card and won when a boy ran in, panting and out of breath.

"Where's Spot?" He cried, looking wildly around the room.

Spot rose quickly and strode over to him. "What?" He demanded sharply, taking the boy by the shoulder and giving him a quick shake.

Some of the wild look left the boy's eyes and he gasped out, "Big fire-next door to circulation building, wind's blowing hard, need-"

Spot didn't wait for the rest of the sentence, he whirled around and barked out, "Alto, get the boys and get them down to the docks. Take buckets and make a water line. Tumbler -" he turned to the boy who had brought the news. "Are the firemen there?"

Tumbler shook his head.

Spot looked around at the people left in the lodging house, but everyone had obeyed his order too promptly. The only ones left were Jeans and Tumbler.

Jeans stood up. "Where is the fire station?" She asked quietly.

"Two blocks away from the town square, turn left and you'll see it. Hurry, Jeans." Spot followed her out the door and turned in the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?" Jeans asked.

Spot looked back at her, his smirk for once not present. "I'm going to Irving Hall to get Jack's boys. I'm going to claim the favors they owe me."

Jeans nodded grimly and began to run.

She ran past the newsies passing empty and full buckets back and forth from the water and the flames.

She ran past the town hall and turned.

She saw the red brick building ahead and dredged up enough energy for a last spurt of speed that took her to the door.

She leant against the door for a second, panting and gasping, before knocking on the door. It opened almost immediately and a rather bleary looking man irritably asked, "What?"

"Please, there's a big fire next to the World distribution center."

The man's face became alert and he yelled back into the room, "Fire in district 209, squad two, get out there." He turned back to Jeans. "I suppose you're a newsie?" At Jeans nod he asked, "Is anyone doing anything about it?"

"Yes sir, all the Brooklyn newsies are working on putting it out, and so's Manhattan's newsies."

The man raised his eyebrows. "What's Manhattan doing over here?"

"Um, well,"

"No, let me guess," the man chuckled, "Spot Conlon worked it. That kid's incredible. Thanks for the message, kid, I gotta go," He jumped on the fire truck as it careened by.

Jeans began walking. She didn't feel up to running back. Besides, she reasoned, it wasn't like there was anything she could do at the fire, not when there were all the Brooklyn and Manhattan newsies there, as well as the firemen.

She wasn't even halfway back when the Unsavory Characters accosted her again. "Say, Squirt! Why ain't youse at da fiah?" The bigger boy asked.

"I was getting the firemen." Jeans replied.

The boy put his nose in the air. "Oh, la di da, she's been getting the firemen." Then he took his nose out of the air and stuck his face close to Jeans. "You weren't getting the fiahmen. Youse too new, Conlon wouldn't send you. What have youse really been doing?"

"Look." Jeans began firmly, "I don't think it's any of your business anyway, but I was getting the firemen, and if you don't believe me you can ask Spot himself, if you dare. At any rate, why are you following me around? I haven't done anything to you; or not anything that I know of." She saw the boys exchange looks. "All right, what did I do? Can we please get this resolved so I don't keep running into you?"

The shorter one looked at his friend. "String, might as well tell her."

String looked Jeans up and down, then began, "Well, actually, you met Bullseye, right? He told us too. See, he'd been duped by girls like you before, and he wasn't taking any chances. He told us to follow you and make sure you were on the level, you know."

Jeans still stood quietly, still waiting.

"So, that's all. I guess it was kinda stupid, actually. I mean, if Spot and Dash let you in, seems you should have been fine, but Bullseye was sore. Getting dumped by a girl as pretty as that last one was, when she was just using him to get to Spot..."

Tubber, the other boy, finished his sentence. "Was hard. Bullseye ain't had much luck wid da goils, foist Dash and den that Mary Suesela - whatevah da rest of her name was."

"Did Spot know about you following me?"

"Nah. I mean, he probly did, but he didn't tell Bullseye to tell us too, if that's what you mean." String answered.

Jeans nodded thoughtfully. "All right. Let's go." And she started running.


	5. Chapter 5

Apologies for the wait! Thanks to all who are reading this, and if you review, thriple thanks! Even a single word, like, "Good" or "Bad" or "Horrible". Although if you do either of the latter ones, I might send Spot after you...

* * *

The two boys looked startled for a minute, then ran after her. "'All right' what?" Tubber panted as they caught up.

"In my benevolence and condescension, I have decided to forgive you for spying on me." Jeans replied, not abating her pace.

"What's the big rush?" String asked.

"Fire!" Jeans threw back over her shoulder as she sped up.

"Oh yeah." The other newsies muttered, speeding up.

Arriving at the site of the fire, Jeans saw it was out, with lots of smoky newsies and firemen wandering around.

There was a small clump of people near a partly demolished building, and Jeans grabbed a Manhattan newsie and said "Racetrack, right? What's up over there?"

Race shrugged. His hat was gone and his vest was rumpled. "One of Spot's new goils got caught undah a beam."

"Is she all right?" Jeans gasped, her thoughts going immediately to Vade.

Racetrack shrugged again. "Dunno. Bully got 'er out." And he walked away whistling.

Jeans ran to the to the group and saw Bully holding Vade. Her leg was in splints and her face was very strained and white.

A fireman was just packing up his medical bag, and Dash, Alto, Sharp and Poker were standing around looking anxious. Spot was nowhere in sight.

"Vade!" Jeans cried as she came up.

Vade looked up and tried to smile. "Hey Jeans. I had a fight with a building. The building won, but Bully was there to back me up."

Jeans laughed, relieved that Vade could still joke.

The fireman picked up his bag. "Get that girl home and into bed. In a week she can use crutches, and in four weeks she can put some weight on it. Six weeks you won't know her leg was ever broken."

Bully thanked the man and, still carying Vade as easily as though she were a baby, began to walk toward the lodging house.

Jeans turned to Dash. "What happened?"

"Da fiah was almost out when da fiahmen got heah. Vade was woiking on da cornah there and da post fell on her. Bully was woiking close by and got it off fastah that you could blink, but her leg was already broken. One of da fiahmen's a doc and he fixed her up."

Dash looked around. "Don't look like dere's much more we'se can do heah." She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled sharply.

All the Brooklyn newsies looked up and Dash waved her arm in the direction of 'home'.

Jack Kelly sauntered over. "Sokay if we go home too, Dash?" he asked.

Dash nodded curtly, and Jeans could see the resemblence to Spot very strongly as she answered, "Yeah, suah. Thanks foah da help."

Jack shrugged. "We owed you."

On the walk back to the lodging house Jeans suddenly thought of something and asked suddenly, "Where's Spot?"

"Here," came his voice from behind her. Jeans started, then grinned as Spot came up beside her.

"You really need to stop _doing_ that to me." Jeans exclaimed, then glanced curiously at the bag Spot was carrying.

He noticed the glance and smirked. "You'll find out what's in it soon."

No sooner than he was through the door Spot said to Sharp, "Get some water hot. Poker, get mugs for everyone. Jeans, as soon as Poker brings them out, put a spoon of this in the bottom of each one." He opened the back and took out and jar of honey, which he handed to Jeans. Then he took out some lemons and began cutting them in half.

After Jeans had put honey in the the mugs he squeezed the juice out of the lemons into the mugs.

Sharp brought in the water. "Where you want dis, Spot?"

He motioned to the cups. "Fill them and then everyone drink one."

Poker took one as soon as it was filled and sipped it, then looked at it in surprise. "Dat's good. Spot, why we doin' dis again?"

To everyone's surprise Jeans answered, "It's for the throat. After you've breathed smoke, hot water, honey and lemon juice clears the smoke out like nobody's business."

Spot looked at her. "That's right. Everyone, once you've taken yours, clean up and get to bed. "

No one grumbled much; it had been an exhausting day.


	6. Chapter 6

They next few weeks were completely uneventful.

Bully carried Vade out every day until she could walk and they made a great selling team. They continued to pay less and less attention to those around them and more and more to each other.

Jeans improved in selling skills and often cooked the evening meals for the newsies, by popular demand after one night of sampling her cooking.

Spot was his usual competent, smirking self and Bullseye and Jeans avoided each other when ever possible.

Then one morning Jeans awoke to find it was winter. They wind blew through all the (many) cracks in the lodging house.

And then the colds started.

It began very innocently, with a few sniffles here and a cough there, but in a week it had escalated to hoarse, racking coughs and barely audible voices, thickened by clogged noses and heads. The only ones not affected were Spot, Bullseye and Jeans.

Spot went around with a perpetual frown line between his brows, and Jeans lost some of her bounce and scowled whenever she heard a cough. Which was often.

Bullseye seemed untouched by anything that was going on, and was seen to grin when Alto doubled over, trying to catch his breath from a severe coughing spell.

Half the Brooklyn newsies couldn't even go outside, and the other half could only stumble outside, stagger to get their papes, and crash into their selling spots.

Fortunately, their pitiable state induced many to tip them heavily, and others to wave away their change with a hearty "No, no, boy, keep it. Merry Christmas!"

Jeans cornered Spot one day as it was snowing profusely. "We need to talk." she said firmly. "This has got to stop."

Spot sighed and took off his cap. "I know. Come in the kitchen."

Jeans leaned against the sink. "I am going to go to my sister's house and get a cough remedy from her. It was my mother's, and she swears by it. Do you trust me enough to feed your newsies a vile concoction? I am glad I'm not sick, the stuff is nasty." Then a myriad of coughs sounded from the other room and her expression sobered. "I was joking before, but I'm serious now. Is it all right with you if I go?"

Spot nodded, and Jeans hurried to the door, but his voice stopped her. "Jeans." She turned to look at him. "This had better work."

She sent him a quick smile before disappearing through the door, and once again she ran through the streets of Brooklyn.

Jeans had not gone a block before she heard someone calling her name. She turned around and saw it was Bullseye.

"What are you doing here?" She asked abruptly.

"Spot sent me to come wid youse. Make suah youse don't get in trouble."

Jeans doubted the latter part of that statement, but she shrugged acceptance and they continued on till they came to her sister's house.

She hesitated outside the door, gathering her nerves together for the welcome (or lack thereof) that she would receive. The knowledge that Bullseye was watching with an annoying grin served to stiffen her resolve and she knocked briskly.

There was a shriek, a scuffle, a quick scurry of feet and then a boy of about five opened the door, and Jeans could see a girl's head poking around the corner.

They eyed her distrustfully and Jeans gave them what she hoped was an encouraging smile. "Is your mother here?"

The little boy nodded. "Could I see her?" Jeans pressed.

"She's sick. Who are you?" The girl asked, coming out from behind the door and putting her thumb in her mouth.

"I'm your aunt. Do you think-" she was interrupted by more footsteps and another female voice said crossly, "Charles, how many times have you and Rose been told not to open that door?" A girl of about fourteen came into sight.

Jeans recognized her at once, turned hastily and gave Bullseye a shove. "Beat it. Come back in twenty minutes." Then she shoved past the kids and shut the door in Bullseye's face.

The girl opened her mouth indignantly, then her face changed. "Eva!" She cried.

"Hello, Ella." Jeans answered a bit awkwardly.

"Come in, come in! Jane will be delighted to see you! Where on earth have you been all these months? We were worried half sick! Let me look at you, goodness, darling, you've lost weight. I'll get you some food right away. I'm taking care of everything myself; Jane is sick. I hope you-"

"Ella," Jeans interrupted, "I'm awfully sorry, but I can't stay. I've only got fifteen minutes. Where's the kitchen?"

Ella raised her eyebrow. "That's my sister all right. Barges in after _four months_ with no word and asks where the food is."

"No, no. I need one of Mam's recipes. The one for coughs. That's why I came. I can't tell you where I'm working, but it's fun and I do get enough to eat. My co-workers make sure of that."

"Well, I'll take your word for it. This way." She led the way into the kitchen, a bright, airy room. The counters were cluttered with bowls, batter, flour, and other cooking implements. Ella waved a hand. "I've been experimenting making different kinds of bread, so it's a bit of a mess. The recipes are in that cabinet over there. Excuse me while I get the bread out.

Jeans was already going through the recipes. She skipped quickly past "Main Courses" "Salads" and "Drinks" to the "Miscellaneous" section. She found the one she was looking for and said, "I have it, Ella, so I'll leave now. Good to see you and all that."

"But don't you want to taste my bread before you go?"

Jeans had very vivid memories of Ella's "experiments" in cooking, so she tactfully declined and left.

Bullseye was waiting for her, and they started back.

"I have to stop at the market and get a few things, but you can go home if you want."

He sneered, and Jeans took that as a no. "Good. You can help me carry things."

At the market Jeans consulted her recipe and purchased the necessary items. They got home without any more trouble than Bullseye complaining about carrying the purchases.


	7. Chapter 7

Update! AND I'm eating chocolate, so this is a good day. Also I got the email so that's good too and...erm. I'll quit rambling and let you read now. I think Authoress in Hiding is wearing off on me...

Thanks a billion to all who reviewed, and a special thank you to me good friend Laura S!

* * *

Spot met them at the door, and Bullseye brushed past him with little more than a nod. He dumped the things on a chair before stalking to a chair himself and resuming his oppressive staring at Alto.

Spot looked at him and shook his head, then turned back to Jeans. "You find everything all right?"

Jeans nodded towards the bags. "Yup. Got all the ingredients on the way home. I'll go make it right away." She hurried to the kitchen, first grabbing the bags and giving Bullseye a whack upside the head.

Spot came into the kitchen after her. "Need any help?" He asked.

"I'd love some. You can chop the garlic as fine as you can, and I'll cut and squeeze the lemons." These things were done as quickly as possible, but the hoarse, gasping coughs that could be heard all over the house provided ample encouragement to hurry even faster.

When the first five cups had the proper quantities of lemon juice, garlic, and vinegar in them, Jeans added ginger and cayenne pepper.

Spot called Bullseye in and told him to take them in to the other newsies and hand them out.

After he left Jeans looked at all the work left to be done and then looked at Spot. "I know we ought to get back to work, but let's go see their reactions."

Spot looked at what had gone into the drinks and a slow grin spread across his face for the first time in days. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

They ducked into the other room to find Bully, Vade, Sharp, Poker and Twister about to drink.

Jeans and Spot exchanged a look of evil glee as the expected eruptions occurred.

"Bleargh!"

"Jeans, you said this was medicine, not poison!"

"I think I'm gonna die!"

"Spot, how could you let her make this?!"

"This bettah woik, 'cause if it doesn't I'm killin' everyone that helped make it!"

Spot and Jeans beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen, where they made more drinks and occasionally burst into laughter for no apparent reason.

The other newsies had been warned away from taking it, but a few stern glares from Spot was enough to make them choke it down, and Jeans felt rewarded when, after everyone had taken it, the coughing subsided by evening.

"Of course," Jeans pointed out, "some of them are probably faking it so they won't have to take more, but hopefully it did some good."

During the next week Jeans, aided by Spot's glare, forced the concoction down the newsie's throats, and a there was marked improvement, no one complained too much about it.

At the end of a week, nearly everyone was well enough to go back to work, but Jeans got sick. It came all at once, unlike the others', and she couldn't even get out of bed.

Dash and Vade made her the medicine, but when they took it up to her, she refused to take it. So naturally, they called Spot, who came up and glared at her. But Jeans had grow accustomed to that glare and ignored it. Then her eyes widened as Spot picked up the rejected glass.

She was leaning against her pillows, trying not to freeze to death, but she started forward as Spot brought the drink closer.

"I won't drink it!"

He pushed her back against the pillows, and holding her down with one wiry hand, and with the other held the glass threateningly above her mouth, which remained stubbornly closed.

Spot sighed and motioned Vade to hold the glass. Then he pried open her mouth and Vade poured the liquid down it.

As soon as she was released Jeans promptly began gagging and making hideous faces, but Spot just smirked as he lounged against her bedpost.

"Just wait till you get sick, Spot Conlon!"

He only laughed and left the room.

To Jeans' great disgust, Spot never did get sick. He continued in irritatingly good health, and whenever he caught her looking at him suspiciously he would smirk in the most annoying fashion.

One day, as Jeans was selling the morning edition, her eye fell on a sub-article.

Her eyes widened, and she tucked her remaining seven papes under her arm and took off for the restaurant.

The newsies in the restaurant looked up as she came rushing in, letting in a blast of chilling air and swirling snow.

Jeans marched over to the table Spot and Dash were sitting at and slapped the paper down in front of them.

"Look!" She said, pointing to the sub-article.

Dash bent over and gave it a cursory glance, then leaned back comfortably against Alto's arm. "So?" She asked.

Jeans stared. "'So?' Have you known about this?"

Dash shrugged. "Relax, Jeans, it happens every year. There's nothin' we can do 'bout it."

"Oh yeah? What about that empty room in the lodging house no one uses? We could keep some there!"

The article in question was written by a well known child-labour investigator, and said that approximately 200 children died each winter in New York from insufficient housing and food.

Jeans looked at Spot. "What do you say?"

Spot had been leaning his chair back against the wall, staring at nothing in particular, but as Jeans spoke his eyes focused on hers with alarming intensity. "I say you're right."

But before Jeans could smirk triumphantly at Dash he continued, "But Dash is right too. We ain't got the kinda food or beds or anything we'd need to help these kids."

Jeans turned to Dash again. "Why are there so many deaths?"

Bully answered. "It's cause New Yoik's a rough place. There aint nowhere foah da kids to go, 'cept jail, so they die on da streets."

Jeans, on the point of making another reply, suddenly closed her mouth and looked thoughtful. "Spot, if I get money and food and blankets, can we help some of these kids?"

Spot looked at her again, and his eyes were very bright and piercing. "Yes."

Jeans nodded firmly and made to leave, but Vade, who had been very quiet, asked, "Jeans? How are you going to get all that stuff?"

"You remember that lady I helped on our first day?" Vade nodded. "Her name is Mrs. McKensie. Two of her kids were starving on the streets before she adopted them. She will help as much as she can." And with that Jeans disappeared out the door.

She sold her papes using the headline "Hundreds of kids die each year! Could yours be next?" And once they were gone she hurried till she came to the tenement house Mrs. McKensie lived in.

The lady had a husband, Jeans had found out, but he worked eighteen hours a day at a sweatshop and made only 2.50 a day, not enough to support their still-growing family, so Mrs. McKensie took in washing and ran a dress shop.

Jeans planned to get the names and addresses of all the well-off people that came to her shop, and then go and ask them to contribute to a charitable effort.

She knew, of course, that she couldn't simply waltz into those grand houses and demand things, she knew she would either have to try and gain entry through the kitchens (something very unlikely to work) or she would have to dress up.

Jeans sighed. She had been so comfortable in her boys' clothes ever since she had left home and become a newsie, she didn't want to go back to dresses and skirts, but it was the surest and most logical method.

Jeans raced up the stairs to Mrs. McKensie apartment. It was almost four, and she would be home from work soon.

The door to the apartment was opened by Robert, and his face lit up when he saw Jeans. He threw himself on her in a ferocious hug, and Jeans picked him up and whirled him around."Is your mother home?"

"Not yet," His sister answered from the doorway, "but you are welcome to come in and wait."

Jeans did come in and spent a vigorous half-hour playing Cowboys and Indians with various little McKensies.

In a half an hour Mrs. McKensie walked in. Jeans stood up to greet her and Mrs. McKensie had a hard time keeping her lips steady as she took in Jeans' appearance. Her braid had come out, leaving her hair down in a wealth of gold tangles, and her flannel shirt was being used for a bandage for a war-wound. Her face was flushed with the exertion that comes from carrying kids on her back and roaring (or neighing, depending on the child) periodically for a half an hour.

Jeans realized what she must look like and smiled sheepishly. "I must look a sight. Playing with kids for a half an hour doesn't do much for one's appearance. I have a favour to ask."

At a word from their mother the children ran into the adjoining room and she motioned Jeans to the couch.

"Do you think," Jeans began, before Mrs. McKensie interrupted her. "Would you mind if I brushed your hair while we talk?"

"Not at all, go right ahead. Now, I need the addresses of the richest people that come to your shop."

The older woman's hands slowed. "Why?"

"Well, you see, it's like this." And Jeans plunged into her explanation. Mrs. McKensie listened quietly as she spoke, and Jeans finished, "so, to get into any of these houses, I'll need-"

"You'll need a dress. And something posh enough to get you in." The dressmaker frowned thoughtfully. "I do have one you might be able to fit in, one of my client's daughters grew too fast for it to fit her, so I kept it. Let me see...a lot of making you look right depends on the hair, you know."

Jeans shifted uncomfortably. "You mean I'd have to put my hair up in one of those hideously disagreeable hairstyles? I'm beginning to have second thoughts about all this."

"Jeans! Think what you're doing this for! A couple hours of discomfort is nothing to saving lives."

Jeans agreed, of course, and she and Mrs. McKensie spent the next hour trying different hairstyles and pinning the dress here and letting it out a little there.

It was after six when Jeans walked into the lodging house. She saw at a glance that all the newsies had heard about her outburst at the restaurant, and they were now waiting expectantly for further developments.

Jeans, it must be admitted, smirked in a remarkably Spot-like way and sat down and picked up a book. She turned a couple pages causally before looking over the top.

Every newsie in the room was looking at her. She laid down the book and grinned.

"Well," Sharp said impatiently, "did ya'll get the money?"

"Nope."

"So youse gave up?" Poker asked.

"Nope."

"Jeans." Dash said, "Talk."

"All right, all right, don't slay me, Noble Leader! I went to Mrs McKensie's house and we made plans. I'm going to try to get the money tomorrow. Satisfied?"

Everyone appeared to be, and the customary talking began again.

Jeans went back to her book, reading for real this time, and consequently jumped when a voice in her ear spoke her name.

"Spot Conlon, if you don't stop doing that you'll scare me out of ten year's growth!" Jeans exclaimed indignantly.

Spot smirked unrepentantly. "I think you already stopped growin', but I'll keep that in mind, 'cause I don't want you growin' tallah den me. Jeans," he continued seriously, "what you're plannin' to do tomorrow, it ain't gonna get anybody in trouble, is it?"

"No." Jeans responded quietly. "I'll use a different name, and I won't tell them I'm a Brooklyn newsie. They won't be able to trace me if anything does go wrong. Which it shouldn't."

Spot nodded. "Good. Let me have a list of people you're visiting tomorrow."

Jeans pulled a list out of her pocket and gave it to him. His eyes widened slightly. "How in the world are you planning on getting in here? You won't even make it into the kitchens!"

"Not dressed like this, I grant, but Mrs. McKensie is loaning me a dress, and I'm going to make some calling cards tonight. After I sell the morning edition tomorrow I'll make the calls."

"Wait. You're gonna sell papes in glad-rags?" Spot asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Oh, no, I'll sell in my regular ones, then Mrs. McKensie will help me get ready and I'll make the calls. Does this plan meet with your approval, Great Leader?"

"Yep." Spot answered, standing up. "I'll see you tomorrow." And he strolled away.

Jeans finished her book and retired to her bed to plan. After spending an hour thinking up convincing lies, her conscience struck, and after a struggle she decided to stick with the truth, only omitting what borough she was from.

Satisfied with her decision, she rolled over and was asleep long before Vade came to bed.

* * *

So...you like? You no like? One worded reviews are great, and will earn you a chocolate cyber bunny!


	8. Chapter 8

Hey keids! Hopefully you like this new installment...there's a leetle bit of fluff for all you fluff-lovers. :-)

Thanks to "Me" for reviewing...yes, I have gotten angry with my brothers before for not getting sick when they were laughing at me for having to take medicine.

* * *

The next morning Jeans sold her usual 70 papes and checked the time. She still had an hour, so she turned down Vanderbilt Avenue and then onto Lafayette Street. About 1/6th of a mile down Jeans went into the small presbyterian church. She sank onto one of the back seats and rested her head against the seat in front of her.

She was quiet for a while, praying, and then a step on the creaky floor in front of her made her straighten.

A young man was walking in the side door at the front. He sat down on one of the steps leading to the pulpit and Jeans ducked behind the pew. When next she ventured a look his head was bent and his lips moved silently.

Not wishing to disturb him, Jeans cautiously crept out and as she make her way to the McKensie apartment, she thought idly that the young man's hair was the same color as Spot's.

Then a sudden idea struck her and she stopped sharply, then kept walking.

Jeans had asked Dash once what religious beliefs she had held, and Dash had just shrugged and said with a laugh that she "guessed she was a Catholic". Jeans had wanted to ask about Spot, but she lost her nerve and had not.

She wondered now if it was possible that the young man she had seen was in fact Spot. She got behind a tree and waited.

In a few minutes a boy came in sight, whistling. His head was down, and Jeans saw with disappointment that his hat was a bowler, and the hair sticking out from beneath it was black, not gold-brown.

Jeans stayed behind the tree till he was well ahead of her, then stepped out, and a little sadly, continued faster, realizing she had only ten minutes left to get to the McKensie apartment.

She had gone only a few yards when a voice spoke her name from less than a foot behind her. She sternly resisted her initial impulse to jump, and turned to face the person instead.

"Spot! How on earth do you do that?"

Spot fell in step with her. "Congratulations. You didn't jump."

Jeans gave a half smirk. "I didn't want to give whomever it was the satisfaction."

He nodded approvingly. "Good girl. What were you doing in the church?"

"Praying." Jeans answered, then going out on a limb with wild abandon she asked, "What were you doing in the church?"

Without a trace of discomfort or embarrassment Spot responded "Prayin'."

"You saw me leave, then? And I tried to be so sneaky."

"You ain't very good at it." Spot commented.

"Thanks. I'd like to learn, though. I don't suppose you could teach me?"

"Maybe. This is the place, isn't it?"

Spot was correct, Jeans had almost walked right by the tenement house without realizing it. She turned to the steps. "Thanks. See you."

"Yeah." Spot watched her go up the steps, but instead of leaving he waited, and when she came down again, looking like a toff, he tipped his cap, held out his arm, and said in a perfectly matter-of-fact manner, "So were are we goin' first?"

Jeans stared. "Why are you still here? Are you coming with me? Why?"

"To make sure you make it home safely when you get kicked out, of course."

Jeans made a face. "Your vote of confidence is overwhelming. Well, shall we?" And with the haughtiest expression she could manage she took Spot's arm. She kept it up for five steps before she dropped both the arm and the expression and burst out laughing.

When she had caught her breath she attempted to walk in her usual free manner, but her feet got tangled in the skirt and she would have fallen if Spot had not caught her. "Remind me never to do anything that involves wearing skirts again." Jeans grumbled as she looked enviously at Spot.

He smirked. "You signed up for it."

"Don't remind me."

While they are walking, perhaps some of my readers would like to know what Jeans looked like. She had a walking dress on, a dark blue one, and contrary to her depreciatory comments about it, her hair looked lovely. It was up in a great mass of semi-curls, and some stay tendrils had escaped to frame her face.

She had a light cream shawl on, but as it was the middle of December, she was shivering as soon as they stepped outside. She crossed her arms over her chest as she walked, trying to keep warm.

Spot noticed, of course, and shrugged out of the extra flannel shirt he deigned to wear in the winter and laid it accross her shoulders.

"Thanks!" Jeans said in surprise. "You're sure you don't need it?"

"If I'd needed it I wouldn't have given it to you."

"That's not necessarily true, but thank you anyway. Now my arms won't be blue when I go in." She settled it more firmly about her shoulders.

I hope the readers will forgive Jeans if she took a surreptitious sniff of the shirt as she pulled it closer to her. She is only human, after all, and a adolescent girl at that. It smelled of newsprint, lemons and honey.

In about ten minutes walk they came to the first house. Jeans took off Spot's shirt and handed it back to him before throwing her shoulders back and walking up the steps. She looked back before knocking, and Spot nodded encouragingly to her before disappearing around the corner.

Jeans picked up the knocker and let it fall. She heard footsteps inside and a maid in a neat cap and uniform answered the door. "Yes?" She said, looking Jeans over quickly.

Jeans held out a card. The maid took it, and after glancing at it, opened the door wider. "Come in. I will tell Mrs. Morgan you are here."

In five minutes she was back and invited Jeans into a warm room with comfortable chairs and a merry fire. A lady was sitting in one of the chairs, and she rose as Jeans came into the room.

"Miss...Schearer, how nice to see you. I do not believe we have met. I am Alysa Morgan, and you, I see, are Eva Schearer. Do sit down and tell me to what I owe this visit."

"It is so good to meet you, Mrs. Morgan. I have no doubt you have read that shocking article about the children that was in yesterday's paper? Well, I read that, and realized something must be done, so I contacted a friend of mine that runs a lodging house for newsies and asked if he would provide lodging if I provided money and bedding and food to take care of them. He agreed, and so here I am to find those things. Do you think you could help some of these children - as a Christmas project, perhaps."

Jeans finished and waited anxiously for the lady's response.

"Well, my dear, this is very interesting. Do you know, I read that article, and I was wondering what I could do to help the poor dears. You think this lodging house will provide ample shelter?"

"For at least half of them, Mrs. Morgan. I'm afraid I don't have any ideas for the rest. They won't go to the refuge, and it would be too much to ask for - "

"Wait." Mrs. Morgan interrupted, she was standing and her face was very white. "You mean these children have a choice between the streets and that dreadful refuge we heard so much about last July?"

"Yes, I think that's - "

"Are there any...girls in with these children?"

"I expect so."

"One moment, please." Mrs. Morgan left the room and after a minute Jeans heard her talking excitedly to someone in the other room. She heard the words "Alice" and "Please, Daniel" and then a quiet male voice sighed and said, "Very well, Alysa."

Mrs. Morgan came back in and sat down, looking very triumphant. "My husband and I have decided to have ten or so children, especially girls, to stay with us for the winter."

Jeans jumped up. "How wonderful! Thank you so much, Mrs. Morgan."

"You are very welcome, my dear. I will speak to some other ladies I know and see if we can't get them to help us as well. If you give me the address of the lodging house I'll have some clothes and things sent round tomorrow, and here is money now for food and Christmas presents. God bless you, my dear."

And suddenly Jeans found herself outside the door with money in her hand and promises of more help to come. She managed to walk sedately down the steps and down the street before she picked up her skirts and flew around the corner.

Spot was lounging against the wall and he steadied her as she came to an abrupt halt just in front of him.

"Look!" Jeans cried breathlessly, thrusting the money into his hands. He counted it slowly, then looked at her. "Do you know how much this is?"

She shook her head. "No, I didn't stop to count it, I wanted to show it to you. How much?"

"Seventy dollars."

"Oh. Oh my. Oh my word. That's a lot. Why, we could get food for a month, a royal Christmas dinner, and maybe even some blankets and pillows."

But Spot wasn't looking at the money any more. He was looking at a square piece of heavy paper that Jeans had inadvertently thrust into his hands when she handed him the money. "Is this your real name?" He asked.

Jeans looked at what he had and made a futile grab for it. He held it out of reach and she shrugged in defeat. "Yeah, that's my name."

"It's pretty."

"Thanks. Don't you dare call me that, though, unless I give you express permission."

"I'll do what I please." He smirked.

Jeans rolled her eyes. "I had a feeling you'd say that. Now you have to tell me what your real name is."

"What if I said it was Spot?"

"I wouldn't believe you."

"I'm the King of Brooklyn, why should I tell you what I haven't told anyone else?"

"Because you're my brother."

"What? How do you figure that one?"

"Are you a Christian?"

"Yes."

"Then that makes you my brother. Now won't you tell me?" Jeans looked at him pleadingly, and Spot sighed.

"All right, all right. It's Patrick."

"Really truly, no fooling?"

"Really truly, no fooling."

"Well." Jeans sighed. "That's what I thought it was. It would have been dreadful if it had been Charles or Benjamin, or something like that."

"So to get back to business, where are we going next?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you. Mrs. Morgan said she would go talk to her friends, so I don't have to make any more calls." And with that Jeans began pulling pins out of her hair. "I am not keeping this ridiculous method of torture in one second longer."

Spot resumed his leaning position against the wall and watched her.

When she finished she carefully tucked the pins into her pocket and shook her head like a wet dog, making her hair fly around her like a curtain of gold before she gathered it together into its customary one braid down the back. "All right, shall we go? Mrs. Morgan is going to send some blankets and things to the lodging house tomorrow, so that part is taken care of, and you have the money, so have I fulfilled my side of the bargain, your Majesty?" Jeans curtsied, looking up at him with a mocking glint in her eye.

"You have, and I'll send the newsies out tonight to pick up any kids off the streets they can find." Spot replied, bowing in return and taking her hand to lift her up.

"Wonderful!" Jeans said very enthusiastically, and she started to set off quickly, when she tripped in her skirts again and Spot had to catch her.

She grimaced. "Thanks. Let's get to Mrs. McKensie's as soon as we can, so I can get out of this dress and you can stop catching me." This they did, and then they went home.

That winter newspapers reported approvingly of the "generosity and benevolence of Mrs. D. Morgan and others in opening their home to poor street children, and providing funding for others to stay at the Brooklyn Newsboys Lodging House".

Jeans had called on Mrs. Morgan once more, to thank her, and that lady had greeted her warmly. "I've been wanting to see you again, but I didn't know where to find you. I wanted to ask all the Brooklyn newsies to a dance at Medda Larkson's Vaudeville Theater. The Manhattan newsies will be there as well. Talk to your leader and let me know what he says."

"Mrs. Morgan, you have done so much already, I really can't let you-"

"Nonsense, my dear, it's a real pleasure for me. I have been staying at home too much since Lily - since Lily died, it does me good to help others for a change. Now, you needn't get all dressed up or anything, you can all just come as you are. You talk to your leader and let me know what he says."

Jeans thanked her again and turned to show herself out, then Mrs. Morgan said "Oh, and Eva? Tell him there will be food."

Jeans grinned. "I think he'll say yes."

Spot did say yes, and next weekend found most of the Brooklyn newsies at the Vaudeville Theater. Manhattan was already there and the two boroughs mingled for a half-hour or so, eating, laughing and talking before the music began.

To Jeans' surprise Jack Kelly himself asked her for the first dance.

"What about Sarah?" Jeans asked with an impish grin. His earlier devotion to the Walkin' Mouth's sister was well known.

Jack shrugged. "We broke up weeks ago. She's goin' wid some guy from a factory now." His disinterest was as plain as his earlier infatuation had been.

"Then I suppose I'll dance with you...if you are _very good._" Jeans said this last jokingly, but it had an undertone of warning.

After her dance with Jack (who kept as far from her as the dance permitted) String whirled her off for the next one, a very lively jig-like dance, then Crab; one of the kids they had picked up off the street who had attached himself to Jeans as soon as he saw her, asked her for the next dance and she consented, ignoring the fact that he was half her height.

She enjoyed it immensely, but after that dance a newsie she didn't know asked her to dance the next one, a waltz. Jeans eyed him distrustfully, and was looking for an excuse to refuse when Racetrack stumbled by. She grabbed his hand gratefully and said, "Sorry, I'm with Race for this one." And dragged him to the dance floor.

"But I don't know how to waltz!" He protested.

"I'll teach you." Jeans replied firmly. "It's very easy, just step in a square. Look at what the other guys are doing."

Race rather gingerly started to do as she said, and soon got the hang of it.

Just as he actually began to do the leading instead of Jeans, a well-known voice said from behind her said, "Mind if I cut in, Race?"

Racetrack dropped Jeans' hands like she was a hot potato and backed away hastily. "Nah, sure, Spot."

Spot took his place.

"You scared him off!" Jeans remarked reproachfully. "He was just started to do so well, too."

Spot raised his eyebrows and held out his hand. "You mind the switch very much?"

"Well, not that much," Jeans conceded, placing her hand on his shoulder, "it's always nicer to be with someone you know."

"Yes." He agreed, capturing her right hand in his and putting his other hand on her waist.

She stiffened automatically, and he noticed, of course. "Sorry, I should have asked. Do you mind?"

"No, no, that's all right. I'm just...not used to it. I used to only do it with my brothers, but I guess you're all right." Her blue eyes sparkled up at him, and he smiled down at her. "Well, thank you. Dash says I lead pretty well, so just try and relax, and when it's over tell me how I did."

"I will." And Jeans tried very hard to concentrate on the music and not the fact that his hand was on her waist. It wasn't easy, particularly when his hand would periodically tighten or loosen as he lead.

She closed her eyes and focused on her feet and the chatter of the other couples.

When the dance ended she opened her eyes to see Spot looking at her quizzically. "What?"

"Why did you close your eyes?"

"You said you lead well. " Jeans answered, surprised.

"Yes, but," he shook his head. Generally, you didn't take people's words about things they said they could do well, but he couldn't very well tell Jeans that after she done that very thing.

He took her to a chair and got her some water. "You tired?" He asked, watching the other couples go whirling by.

"A little, maybe. I think I'll sit this one out, so you can go dance with someone else."

"Thanks." But he made no move to do so.

The next dance was a lively reel, and contained several lifts. Jack came up and asked, "Wanna dance, Jeans?"

"Um..."

"Sorry, she's with me for this one." Spot said. He didn't look at all sorry.

"Oh, uh, sure, Spot. I think Rose wanted to dance anyway..."

"You really shouldn't do that, you know." Jeans commented, watching him ask an exceptionally pretty brown-haired girl.

"Did you want to dance with him?"

"Not really, but - "

"The music's starting." Spot interrupted, pulling her to the dance floor.

"Spot, I...I really don't like lifts." Jeans whispered as they started the opening steps.

"Do you trust me?" He asked, looking down at her seriously.

Jeans closed her eyes tightly and nodded. Then she was flying up through the air, through space, and then Spot caught her and she was safe again. Her hand closed in a death grip on his arm.

"All right?" He asked, steadying her.

"Yes." But her hold did not relax. Spot looked at her, and asked again, "Do you trust me?"

This time Jeans sensed he was talking about more than the lift. Once again she closed her eyes. Then she opened them, and looking him straight in the eyes she said, "Yes."

His arm tightened around her waist, and the next time a lift came, Jeans found that she didn't mind it so much.

* * *

So let me know what you think of it! All reviews are very welcome, even flames. Or one worded ones. Or ones that take two reviews. Or...Yeah, you get the picture.

Vive le France! Er...


	9. Chapter 9

So...this is one of the hardest chapters I've ever written. I hope you like it. And don't kill me when you get to the end. Please.

Me-Thanks for reviewing again. I think you'll find many changes between what I read you then and what I have posted now.

* * *

One day, almost a week later, Jeans was standing outside the lodging house staring morosely at the rain streaking by. She was, frankly, bored. Even the most exciting things get boring after a while. She wished something exciting would happen.

Now, most of us, when we wish for something exciting to happen, do not get our wishes granted right away, but Jeans did.

A hand touched her shoulder and Spot asked, "You want to go with me to see Selene?"

Jeans came alive. "I'd love to!"

"When can you be ready?"

"Is now soon enough?"

"Perfect."

They started off. In spite of the rain, Jeans was feeling happy. She was going to see someone she didn't get to see very often, and she was walking through Brooklyn with Spot Conlon. How often did that happen?

So, naturally, she began singing. Very quietly, though, so as not to disturb anyone (especially not the person she was walking with). Finding he made no objection, she sang a little louder. It was a jaunty Irish walking song, and was excellent for passing the time.

Soon she found they were in the alley that lead to Selene's house. Disreputable looking people were standing about outside the bar looking bedraggled and sick.

Jeans sensed Spot go rigid by her side as soon as he saw them, and he took her hand and pulled her after him faster than normal.

At the end of the street Spot turned the opposite of the way they should have gone.

"Spot? Isn't this the wrong way?"

"We'll circle back around. I don't want them knowing where Selene lives." His mouth closed in a tight line, and Jeans swallowed whatever comment she had been about to make.

They were standing in front of Selene's door eight minutes later before she could get her nerve up enough to talk to him again. "Spot...those people back there might not have had anything to do with what...with what happened to Selene's husband. It was probably only a chance drunk that -" She took a step back as he rounded on her.

"Jeans, they're selling the stuff. They know what it does to people, they know the suffering they cause."

"But maybe - "

"I know what I'm talking about. My dad was a drunk. My mum left us when I was five. I took Colleen and beat it as soon as I could. I wasn't leaving my sister to grow up with a drunk in control of her life."

"So you took control of it instead."

"Yes!" The one word was quiet, but had undertones of steel. Jeans looked away.

Spot relaxed his 'iron face' and sighed. "I'm sorry, Jeans. I shouldn't take my anger at my dad out on you. Quits?"

"Quits. I'm really sorry I brought it up. I...I didn't know."

"Hey. There wasn't no way you could know." Suddenly Spot closed his eyes and groaned. "I told you Dash's real name, didn't I?"

"Yep!" Jeans grinned impishly.

"Save me life and don't ever let on you know it."

"Kill you? The great Spot Conlon? Surely not!" And whistling arily, Jeans dodged the mock-punch Spot aimed at her and knocked loudly at the door.

There was no answer. The two looked at each other, and Spot tried the handle. It was unlocked. They went in and Spot called, "Selene? Dolly?"

There was a noise from the far room, and a weak voice called, "Slingshot?"

Spot moved faster than Jeans would have thought possible. He was kneeling by Selene's rocker in less than two seconds. "What happened? Where's Dolly?"

"I sent Dolly out two hours ago like normal, but she usually only takes a half an hour, an hour at most. I know something's happened to her. I started to go look for her, but I only made it down the steps when I fell. I crawled back in here, and I've been sitting here worrying for almost an hour."

Spot stood up. His hand clenched on his cane and he turned to Jeans, more angry than she had ever seen him. "You have your knives?" He spoke quietly, but he clipped off the ends of his words sharply.

Jeans nodded, touching the one at her hip.

"Good. Selene, we're going to go find Dolly now, but we'll be back in less than an hour." He grabbed Jeans' hand and strode down the hall.


	10. Chapter 10

So! Here it be. Enjoy, all those still reading this. Thank you for the reviews!

'Me' Tch. Such bloodthirstiness in one so young. I hope this chapter does not disappoint you, love. Say hello to thy siblings for me, won't you?

* * *

As soon as they were outside Spot began outlining his plan. "I'm pretty sure the same guys that knocked her down last year are the same ones that have her now. I know them, and they've hated me ever since I beat them up five years ago. Apparently they have short memories. They didn't remember certain promises I'd made them about what would happen to them if they ever crossed my path again?"

"So what am I supposed to do?"

"You are decoy."

"What!"

"Yeah. First we find them and then you distract them from killing Dolly, then when they try and kill you for interfering, I knock the life out of them."

"Sounds fun. Why did I need my knives, if I don't get to do anything with them?"

"Oh, before I come save you, you're going to show me what you can do with them. I haven't seen you work yet."

"So basically you want me to show off for you while trying to save my life and Dolly's. Touching. Will you promise me one thing?"

"What?"

"If I die a bloody death, make sure my knives get back to my sister."

"If you die a bloody death I'll get your knives to your sister. Do I have to do it if you die a non-bloody death?"

For answer Jeans smacked his arm and sped up, only to slow down a minute later as the high wailing of a child was heard. She exchanged a glance with Spot and he halted, motioning for her to go ahead.

Jeans approached the group of boys surrounding Dolly. She cleared her throat. None of them looked up, being too busy teasing the little girl and making crude jokes. So Jeans pulled out her boot knife and tapped one of the boys on the shoulder. He looked around. And laughed coarsely. "Hey, Crusher, here's another goil to have some fun with. She's got a little sting, too."

The leader, a big, brawny kid, looked around and laughed likewise.

"You know," Jeans remarked, "You people should really get some lessons in common courtesy. Don't you know it's not polite to be mean to little girls?"

The leader's eyes narrowed. "I don't take guff from little goils. You got five seconds to talk befoah I let my boys loose."

Jeans smiled charmingly. "I just wanted to tell you I think your behaviour is rude, cruel and despicable. And you could very well die for it. Dolly, please get out of the way. And you might want to cover your eyes."

And with that parting injunction, Jeans went into action. Reversing the knife she held in her right hand, she fling it at Crusher's shoulder while pulling her second knife out of her thigh sheath and stabbing at the boy next to her. Both blades went home.

Jeans ducked under the punch of another of the gang and pulled her knife out of the leader's shoulder. Twisting the arm with which he tried to grab her behind his back, she held the bloody knife to his throat.

Everyone froze, and then a slow deliberate clapping was heard from the shadows. Spot stepped forward, and the immediate terror on the boys' faces was something to behold.

The Brooklyn leader surveyed the group, hand on his cane and a chilling half smile on his face. He nodded to Jeans. "Very impressive. You need to work on your entrance, though."

Jeans bowed as best she could without moving the knife. "My apologies. I fear my thoughts were somewhat occupied with the fight and not with my performance. I crave your pardon."

"Given." Spot studied the group again, his gaze stopped on Crusher, and when next he spoke, his face and voice were very cold. "Crusher. I seem to remember telling you to leave goils alone. And that little girl in particular. Now, you have five seconds to talk before I let my goil loose."

Crusher remained stubbornly silent, and Spot let his gaze drift, almost lazily, to one of the other boys in the gang, who immediately started blabbing. "It wasn't me, I sweah, Spot, Crushah told us to do it, I nevah wanted too, I didn't do nothin' to the little goil, I-"

"Stop." Spot looked down at Dolly, who was standing as close to him as she could possibly get. "Did he hurt you?" She shook her head. "Who did?"

The little girl pointed to Crusher, who was staring at Spot with an expression highly evocative of despair and hatred.

Spot's face hardened even more, if such a thing were possible. He took out his slingshot, and said while fitting a shooter in with deliberate care, "You boys have ten seconds to get out of my sight before I let loose. Crusher, you stay where you are. One. Two."

The boys broke and scattered. Spot nodded to Jeans to relax her guard. "Crusher, don't you move. Jeans, take Dolly to her mother and wait till I come. Neither one of you wants to see this."

Jeans grabbed Dolly's hand and hurried her to her mother as fast as she could. As soon as she was in her mother's arms, Jeans did not wait for Spot.

She ran back to where he was. Spot was standing over Crusher, who was on the ground. The gang leader did not appear to be too badly hurt yet, only the knife wound in his shoulder and several bruises on his face. He raised his cane for another blow, and Jeans did what was, probably, the stupidest thing she had ever done.

She got in front of Spot Conlon's cane and said "Slingshot. Think about what you're doing. Selene wouldn't want this. You know she wouldn't want this. Think."

Other than a slight start when she said 'Slingshot', Spot paid no attention. He pushed her out of the way and made to resume.

Jeans grabbed the cane and hissed four words in Spot's ear. His face suddenly got very tired. He sheathed the cane and extended his hand to Crusher. The boy on the ground just looked at it.

"Come on, get up. Your shoulder's hurt, we'll have to take care of it." Spot said impatiently.

Very hesitantly, Crusher took the hand and got to his feet, only to utter a low moan and pitch forward onto Spot's shoulder.

Jeans almost laughed at the total horror on his face as he struggled to get his body under control and off the King of Brooklyn's shoulder, but instead she offered her own shoulder to help support the wounded boy till they got to- "Where are we taking him, Spot?"

"Selene's."

"But," Jeans stopped. This was indeed a turnaround. Going from trying to kill someone to inviting them home.

"Conlon, why're you doing this?"

Spot's voice was tight as he answered, "'Cause you're my brother, and I have a pushy younger sister to remind me of it."

"She's yoah sistah?"

"As much as you're my brother." This conundrum puzzled Crusher enough that he remained silent the rest of the way.

* * *

So...what say you? Drop a review!

Vocabulary That You Might Not Know:

Guff: Trivial or meaningless talk. (slang)

Injunction: Command; authoritative order

Conundrum: A confusing problem; a riddle


	11. Chapter 11

A/N Thank you all for the wondrous reviews! And thanks to all my shadow readers also-those of you that read but do not review...This chapter, well, I hope you all like it. It's more of a background/filler chapter. Next chapter we see some action. It's the one you have been waiting for.

Me- I know, darling, I was only teasing. Thank you for the reviews! (And, regarding my other story, as I said, I really have no idea where it came from, and I don't think there will be any more like it)

* * *

In due time they got the gang leader's shoulder washed and bandaged, and with a stern injunction for him not to move from his berth on the floor, Spot left him with Jeans and stepped outside, ostensibly to "make some arrangements" as he had told Jeans, but he also planned to think.

He began by thinking about Jeans. When she first showed up, he had not trusted her at all, and had been on his guard, every second just waiting for her to do something - anything - that would get her kicked out.

Her first day selling he had been surprised and not entirely pleased to get only positive reports back from all his sources, but he was most definitely not going to let her get anywhere close to him.

So he had taken her somewhere he had never taken anyone else before (he would have been happy to take Dash, but she had never shown any interest) which was seemingly the opposite of what he intentioned. But he had a plan. Or rather, _had_ had a plan, before it backfired and resulted in his liking Jeans better, though he still did not trust her.

After a few normal weeks winter had come and the colds had set in. That was when he was forced to trust Jeans. Her cough remedy, foul as it was, had certainly healed his newsies faster than anything he'd ever tried. (Although he agreed with Jeans that some of their hasty recoveries were to get out of taking the nasty stuff)

It had been fun, he had to admit, making Jeans take some (literally, in this case) of her own medicine. Her grimace had been priceless.

A few weeks later, when Jeans had got the idea to take in street orphans, he'd been skeptical; but he helped her with her scheme, and it had worked. He again had to admit he had enjoyed seeing her in a dress and getting a rare glimpse of her with her hair down. Not to mention getting as much money in a day as most newsies made in a year.

The dance...ah, the dance. The expression on the normally cock-sure Jack Kelly's face had been hilarious. And Jeans' frank trust of him - Spot - had been immensely refreshing.

It had been then, also, that he had found out what he had already suspected, that Jeans was a Christian.

He had, as a boy, been a sort of Catholic, as most Irish were, but when he had left home and was on the streets, he'd ditched it.

It was only five weeks after he and Colleen were on the streets that he had been trying to swipe a pastry and a man had caught him.

_Flashback_

His hand descended on Spot's shoulder and he looked up, his heart sinking, but he straightened proudly.

"I think you want to put that back, don't you, lad?" The voice had a kind tone, but the hand was very firm.

"Except for the fact that me sistah is stahvin', I'd love to." Spot replied desperately.

The man frowned. "Come on, lad, I'll take you somewhere where you can get some food."

Promising himself that he would twist away as soon as he had it, Spot obeyed.

The man took him to an old warehouse. There was a long line of people waiting to get food from ladies in aprons behind the table. They joined the line, and Spot was handed a bowl of food and a hunk of bread.

Then the man took him over to a table and sat him down. "Eat up, and listen, too. You might learn something."

Spot squirmed, wanting to get away and take the bread to Colleen, but he could see that wasn't going to happen until the thin faced man that was clearing his throat said his bit and shut up and left.

"Friends, tonight I want to tell you about Someone. He is the best friend you will ever know. How many of you have heard of God?"

Most of the people raised their hands. "How many of you love Him?"

Hardly any did. "Well, I want to tell you tonight that God loves you. He is greater than we can imagine, but instead of destroying us like we deserve, He sent his Son to come to earth a man - a humble carpenter's son - to die an incredibly painful death to ransom you from your sins, so you could be spared the wrath of God."

Ransom was something Spot understood. He'd had to ransom a couple of his boys before from rival gangs. He'd even been ransomed once himself. But ransom from sins? Spot knew he sinned - they talked about that a lot at mass and stuff, but he'd never thought that _God_ would do something to pay for it before.

Why would He care about Spot? An orphan (basically) trying to survive? The thought was incredible.

"Jesus died for you," the man went on, "because there is no way we can be spared the wrath of God on our own. Friends, salvation is a free gift. All we need to do is accept the gift. Put your trust in Jesus tonight, trust that he can save you from your sins. And he will. God keep you, brothers."

As the man left the 'platform' and sat down, Spot stared at his empty soup bowl. He grabbed the bread and got up, and the man that had brought him made no move to stop him.

As he wandered back to Dash, he thought about what the man had said, and the more he thought about it, the more it seemed true and real.

It was that night, dodging bulls and drunks on the streets of New York, that Spot Conlon became a Christian.

_End Flashback_

Spot shook his head. That had been a long time ago now. There may not have been too much change apparent then, but as he grew older, something in his head had begun nagging at him whenever he made decisions he knew were wrong.

Then Jeans had showed up. Her first couple days, when he'd had someone following her, they'd reported back that a few times she'd stopped and muttered something under her breath, and often seemed to hold conversations with herself, arguments, even.

This would have made Spot merely think she was crazy, except he himself, ever since that _Something_ in his head started reminding him when he sinned, had held arguments with it, trying to justify his actions. (It had never worked.)

So he more than halfway suspected she was a Christian, and then one morning, when he'd gone to a church service at the small Presbyterian church, he'd seen her there. Thereafter, by tacit agreement, they'd slipped out of the lodging house every Sunday to go to church together.

* * *

So...before you all kill me, let me know what you think. Specifically...anything. ;)

Vocab:

Ostensibly - apparently or purportedly, but perhaps not actually

Tacit - understood or implied without being stated


	12. Chapter 12

Goodness! Have you ever _seen_ such fast updating! Do let me know what you think...

(Oh, and yes, I made a mistake. _Next_ chapter we get the action. _This_ one is...well, you'll see)

* * *

Spot pushed himself off from the wall. There were more things to do than get lost in the past.

There was no way he was letting Crusher stay with Selene, at least not without someone guarding him, no matter how injured he was.

Spot decided with a sigh that he and Jeans were going to have to stay at Selene's tonight and take turns watching the gang leader.

And he'd have to let Dash know somehow, or else she'd raise Brooklyn trying to find him.

He winced, thinking of the barrage of questions that would greet him as soon as they got back.

Then he went back inside the house to find something to write on and with.

"Hey, Jeans, you seen any paper around here? I wanna write a note to Dash."

"Yeah, I think there was some in the kitchen."

"Thanks." Spot hastily scribbled a message, then said to Jeans, "I'll take this out and find someone to take it to her, and be back in a couple minutes. Will you be all right?"

"Oh, yes. Don't worry about us. Bob and I will be just fine. I'm going to make biscuits now."

"Bob?" Spot echoed.

"Yes, that's Crusher's name."

If he had not been Spot Conlon, he would have shaken his head in disbelief. Tough gang leaders didn't tell their real names to little snippets of girls. (Well, he had, but then - never mind) He had something he needed to do.

The first newsie he saw on the way to Brooklyn was Fire. He handed her the note, ordered her to make sure it got to Dash, and headed back to Selene's. He might have looked for another newsie to convey his message had he seen Fire's face as she read the note.

It was full of malicious delight.

Jeans, meanwhile, was very busy. Selene had not stopped fussing over Dolly, so Jeans was fixing supper and taking care of Bob. (She had found that calling him by his real name soothed him)

He had a high fever and was delirious, and called often for his mother, apologizing for leaving over and over again, pleading with her to forgive him. Each time he did so, Jeans would hurry over to him and gently stroke his head, murmuring soft words of comfort and helping him to drink glass after glass of water.

When supper was ready she served it to Selene and Dolly, put a bowl aside for Spot, and took some broth to Bob.

He drank it without a fuss, but continued to ramble about his home, his mother and his siblings. He was obviously getting worse.

Jeans looked up, relieved, as she heard the front door open and Spot come in. She got up and went to meet him. "Spot, I don't know what to do. He's delirious and he keeps calling for his mother."

"I'll look at him." Spot felt Bob's pulse, put his hand to his forehead and asked, "You been giving him water?"

"Yes, as much as he'll take."

"Good. Keep giving him all the water you can. I'll be back soon."

Jeans waited an anxious five minutes before Bob groaned through cracked lips, "Water".

Recalled to her duty, she quickly picked up the glass and carefully poured some between the dry lips.

She was doing the same thing a half an hour later when Spot walked in with a middle aged, worried looking woman at his side. "This is Crush-Bob's mum." He explained briefly.

The woman knelt down by her son and put her hand to his forehead. "Do you have hot water?" She asked, pulling a packet of herbs out of her pocket and looking at Jeans.

"I'll go put the kettle on."

Spot followed Jeans into the kitchen and she glanced up from poking the fire as he came in. "If you wanted to be helpful you could get some more wood."

"What if I didn't want to be helpful?"

"Well, I could answer as my brother does and say 'then I'll make you', but since I realistically _can't _make you, I suppose I would swallow my pride and meekly go get the wood myself."

"I'd like to see that." He leaned against the counter with his most aggravating smirk on his face.

Jeans glared. "On second thought, I could _try_ and make you, but - " she added as she hastily backed away to get away from Spot's advance, "- if you don't mind I'd really rather not. Do be a good boy and go get some."

"You sound like my mother." He complained, but he got the wood.

When the water was hot, Jeans filled a mug and took it to Bob's mother and then came back to the kitchen. She poured a cup of tea for herself and asked, "You want one too?"

"Hm? Oh, sure." Spot sat at the table and started fiddling idly with his cane.

"So how did you know where to find his mother?"

"His younger brother's in the same gang. I caught him and convinced him to tell me where his mam lived."

"Convinced?" Jeans asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Calm down. I didn't hurt the kid."

Jeans continued to look at him, and he conceded, "I might've tapped my cane on the ground impatiently a couple times, but that was it. Man, you'd think he was your kid or somethin'."

"Can't I have a little concern for street rats once in a while? Come on, shut up and drink your tea." She shoved it across to him.

He took a sip before replying wryly, "I can't shut up and drink my tea at the same time, you know. To shut up I have to shut my mouth."

Jeans threw up her hands. "I _knew_ it, I just can't win." She sat down. "So are we going back to Brooklyn now Bob's mam is here?"

Spot hesitated, tapping his mug. "I ain't decided yet. What do you think? Is it safe?"

Jeans concealed her surprise at his asking her at all and answered, "I think so, particularly since he'll be as weak as a newborn baby for a while, even after the fever leaves."

"Well, then." He downed the rest of his tea and stood. "I'll go talk to Selene, you clean up, and we'll meet outside in ten minutes."

"Spot?" Jeans asked, and he turned. She was frowning. "Did you already tell someone we wouldn't be back tonight?"

"I gave Fire a note for Dash, yeah."

Jeans' hand flew to her mouth. "Fire?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Fire is the worst gossip I've ever known. If you gave her a note for Dash, she'll have read it, and gossiped -"

Spot groaned. "Forget the cleanup. We're leaving now."

As they headed towards the door he called, "Selene! Jeans and I have to go. Urgent business. We'll be back tomorrow."

* * *

Am I not evil? Am I not exceedingly diabolical? For I have left you with a cliffhanger! Never fear, though. Another update is on its merry way!

Go with God,

Eavis


	13. Chapter 13

This is, quite possibly, the longest chapter I've ever written. I hope you enjoy it.

Me - The man that caught Spot was no one in particular, just a Christian passerby. Read on to find what they do about Fire...

* * *

The two newsies set off for Brooklyn at a dead run. Once they got there, they paused outside the lodging house and Jeans whispered, "Is there any way we could get inside without them seeing us?"

A smirk formed on the King of Brooklyn's face. "Yeah. The fire escape. C'mon."

The hurried over to the rickety fire escape and Jeans looked at it doubtfully. "You think this'll hold?"

"We can only hope."

With this encouraging reply, they started up, Jeans first.

She made it over halfway up before the rung she was standing on broke. And she began to fall. She bit her lips to keep from screaming, but she didn't fall far before she hit something hard and firm.

She opened her eyes to see a smirk on the familiar face above her. She tried to grin back as she whispered, "I guess I just couldn't get through life without you saving me at least once."

"Oh, I intend it to be more than that." Was the puzzling reply, before he carefully helped her up the last few rungs.

They snuck in quietly, and just as quietly made their way to the head of the stairs. From there they could hear Fire's voice saying loudly, "...So, there I was, just selling my papes, when Jeans comes up and starts giggling and prancing around just in front of Spot, and that look came into his eyes and he dropped his papes and went after her just like the other two times. Of course, there wasn't much I could do, except come and tell you so we can go rescue him."

"I don't believe it!" Vade declared stoutly, "I know Jeans wouldn't do anything of the sort! I've never even heard her giggle.

Fire snorted. "Yes, defend your little friend all you want, but you didn't see him before when -"

Spot turned to Jeans. "I've got a plan. Will you go along with it?"

"Yes." Her face was very red, and she was glad the windows did not admit much sunlight.

Fire stopped, openmouthed, as she saw Spot. He smiled frigidly at her and sat down on the bottom step. "Go on," he said, his voice like cold steel, "I'm sure you have more lurid details to share with us."

Fire gulped and looked around. No one would look at her. "Spot, yoah note said, I mean, I...I didn't think you'd be back till tonight."

"Did you."

"I mean, you an' Jeans were both gone, and we just kinda, uh, -"

"That's enough." Spot cut Fire off and pulled Jeans down on the step beside him. "Instead of gossiping about us, you could have just asked. We would have been happy to tell you we were courting."

There was stunned silence in the lodging house for thirty seconds, then someone began clapping and most of the newsies joined in.

Jeans leaned closer to Spot, and from behind a pasted on smile she muttered, "What on earth are you doing?"

"Tell you later."

"You better."

Then they had to give attention to the clamor of questions, exclamations, and congratulations that poured on them.

'Later' didn't come till most of the newsies had drifted off to bed later that night and Spot and Jeans were comfortably settled in one of the window seats.

Bully and Vade were still in the kitchen talking quietly, and Poker and Sharp were on the stairs laughing and no doubt exchanging cheating secrets.

Jeans folded her hands in her lap and looked at Spot expectantly. "So, your explanation, remember?"

Spot pulled her hands apart and inserted one of his instead. "What do you want me to explain?"

"If you were serious this afternoon, and if so, why you want to court me, and why on _earth _didn't you tell me what you were planning before you announced it this afternoon."

"Well," he began, leaning back luxuriously, "to answer your first question, I was entirely serious. I want to court you because I want to marry you."

"Oh! Um, why?"

"Because I think it is God's will." He answered solemnly.

Jeans looked at him suspiciously. "How do you figure that?"

"I asked Him and He told me so."

"How?"

"'It is not good for man to be alone'." He quoted, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Oh, you. Go on."

"For your second question, no, I actually intended to ask you if you would date me sometime this week, but when Fire started spreading that noxious gossip about us, I decided, in a brilliant flash of genius, that I would make the announcement then and knock all their socks off."

"What if I hadn't agreed?" She demanded saucily.

"The thought never entered my head."

"Well, actually, it never entered mine either," She said. He smiled smugly, and she added, "I was too busy thinking of the best way to let Fire know you were all hers."

She laughed at his horror-struck expression. "Just _kidding_."

"Good." He sighed in relief. "She's been after me for years. Would you believe me if I said my main reason for wanting to court you was to get her off my back?"

Jeans swatted him. "No, I wouldn't." Then she hesitated. "Spot, do you mind me asking you something?"

"Ask away."

"Fire said something about 'the other two times' and Dash said something like that too, when I first came. What...I mean, did anything happen with - with anyone else?"

Spot tightened his grip on her hand. "I'll tell you about it, but I want you to know that what happened has nothing to do with me or with you. Got that?"

She nodded.

"Good. Well, it started soon after the strike. All these random girls kept showing up. Usually during the winter. They'd be freezing to death on the streets, and naturally, we had to take them in.

'They'd flirt with some of the other boys once in while, but they were never serious about anyone except me. They were all gorgeous and looked about the same. Red hair, sparkling green eyes, Irish spitfires, you get the picture.

'I never got involved with them, until one day, for no reason at all that I could tell, I fell head over heels in love with one of them. Or it might have been all of them, _I_ don't know." He shuddered. "It was horrible, what I remember of it. I forgot all about the boys, even my own sister's name. Thank God, Dash figured out what was wrong and got rid of them."

"How?"

"I've never asked. But going by the wild glare that was in her eyes for weeks afterward, I don't think I want to inquire too closely. Mad sisters are nothing to be trifled with. Anyway, after that, I made a rule that any random girls that wanted to be newsies had to come down to the docks before any could be admitted to the lodging house. Sometimes -" a tremor ran through him again "-sometimes there were even boys. Ugh."

"Then what?"

"You know what happened next. You showed up, thank God. By the way, what book did you use that had them so scared?"

Jeans grinned. Evilly. "Comprehensive Logic. Teenaged girl writers can't stand it."

He looked confused. "What?"

"Never mind. So, I know nothing about you."

"I told you where I came from!"

"No, I mean _you_. As in, what do you like to eat, what's your favorite color, what are you afraid of; things like that."

"Potatoes, silver, and nothing. Any other questions?"

Jeans swatted him again. "Cut it out. Well, to help your poor, underdeveloped brain think of things, I will go first. By several things you've said, I'm going to assume you eavesdropped on Selene and I and you know my history."

Sheepishness looks very odd on Spot Conlon's face.

She smiled. "Yes, I thought so. I like potatoes too, and bread. My favorite color is blue and I love reading. I like to be useful and not just -"

"And what are you afraid of?" He interrupted.

"Do I have to tell?"

"Yes." He answered immovably, and she sighed in defeat.

"Ugh. I'm afraid of falling."

"Falling?"

"As in falling through space, yes."

"I didn't know I was doing you such a big favor when I caught you earlier today."

"Yes, well, moving on," she said uncomfortably, "I also like talking to you and using big words."

"I noticed."

"Quit interrupting. I enjoy selling to regular customers, and I hate condescension and snobby people. I love laughing and having fun. Now it's your turn."

"You sure I'm not _interrupting_?"

"Yes!"

"All right, all right. I like selling to girls 'cause they, uh, they're easy to sell to."

"You mean they think you're so handsome they buy from you because of that. Don't play the innocent with me, Conlon, I've seen how you sell."

He smirked. "Did you learn somethin'?"

"Yes, that you're a charmer and maybe I shouldn't be courting you." She smiled to show she was joking. "Go on."

"I like talking to smart people and you,"

"Hey!" Jeans interrupted indignantly, "did you just say I wasn't smart?"

"No...I meant you were so much more brilliant than everyone else that you can't be classified with them."

"Nice save. It isn't at all true, but thanks anyway." She leaned against his shoulder comfortably and yawned. "Go on."

"I hate flirty, giggling girls, and I hate starving, being alone and being cold."

"And yet everybody thinks of you as cold and remote."

"To admit to being lonely would be a weakness. King of Brooklyn can't have any weaknesses."

"Yeah, right."

"I like tea and fire. I love gingerbread and spice cake the way me mum used to make it. I like hearing other people sing and hardly ever do it myself."

"Mm." Jeans murmured drowsily.

"I like getting up early and watching the sunrise. I like being the best fighter in New York. I want to teach kids to fight someday, and I -" he looked down. Jeans was fast asleep, leaning on his shoulder. "-and I like being with you." He finished.

Spot picked her up as easily and gently as if she were Dolly and carried her upstairs. He laid her carefully in her bed beside Vade and backed out.

He was closing the door when he heard someone whisper, "Spot." And Dash got up and came over to him. "Can we talk?" She whispered.

"Yeah, come in the hall." He closed the door after them. "What?"

"Spot, are you sure about this? I mean, I like Jeans, but are you sure you're fine? It...it isn't like last time, is it?"

"Dash, this is nothing like last time. Nothing. Can you please try and understand that?"

"Spot, you don't even know her!"

"I do. Better than anyone she's known in the past five years, I'll bet. What did you think I was doing when I'd disappear Sunday mornings? I go to church with Jeans. Dash, thank you for your concern, but it's fine. I love you, now go to bed."

"Patrick, I love you too. And...I'll try not to worry."

* * *

So, here it is! The part of the story that most stories would just stop at. But...the story's not over yet! Drop a line and tell me what you think and if it made you laugh at all...and, be honest. It's for posterity.

Vocabulary

Lurid - very vivid, especially to create an unpleasant effect

Noxious - harmful, poisonous, or very unpleasant

Hysterical note - er, I mean _historical:_

I use courting to describe what Jeans and Spot are doing (I believe most of you chaps call it dating), because according to the research I've done on the subject, the term dating didn't come into use until the 1910's at the earliest. Around when cars were more readily available.


	14. Chapter 14

So...yeah, really short chapter, but, please, don't kill me.

* * *

Jeans woke up the next morning highly confused. The sun was streaming in the cracked window panes, making it at least ten o'clock.

Then everything that had happened yesterday came crashing into her head at once and she stretched her sore muscles with a groan.

She was crazy. Or Spot was. _Someone_ had to be crazy. She was courting _Spot Conlon._ As in, the King of Brooklyn. The guy everyone was half afraid of.

Jeans shook her head. She didn't have time to waste thinking, she'd missed selling the morning edition and she'd have to hurry to sell the afternoon one.

In less than five minutes she was clattering down the stairs and out to the distribution center. She arrived breathless and got in line behind Twister, a newsie she knew only by sight.

He nodded a greeting, then edged a little away from her.

Jeans raised her eyebrows, then realized that word of what had happened yesterday must have already made the rounds.

She picked up her usual seventy papes and headed out to sell. She had sold over half of them when she felt a knife poked into her back and a voice (disguised) growled, "Move into da alley."

Once they were comfortably far into the alley the knife moved to Jeans' throat and whomever it was began to talk, "So you thought you could just come in and take Spot, huh, even though you knew he was mine?"

"Well, actually, I -"

"Well, you're wrong. Spot's mine, an' he's gonna stay that way. He'll come to his senses once you're dead. The main problem is what to do with your body."

* * *

Once again, I have left you with a cliffhanger! A mysterious killer is trying to - of all things - kill! Horrors!

Review quick, and her life might yet be saved. Er...


	15. Chapter 15

Last Chapter...

_"(T)he main problem is what to do with your body."_

* * *

"That's pleasant. You know, I could just walk my body out of your way, if you let -"

"Very funny. I think..."

Jeans was trying to remember how to get away from a knife-at-throat hold. There were several ways to do this, she knew. The trick was to do it without dying.

"Yes, I think I'll just toss you in some trash can. That way even if he finds you, he won't suspect me."

Then Jeans remembered. The trick was to throw yourself back, so you knocked the person off balance, and knock the knife out of their hand at the same time.

Of course, there was no guarantee the knife wouldn't slit your throat in the process, but it wasn't like Jeans had much choice, so she gathered herself together and flung herself backwards.

It worked. With a low curse, the person stumbled and fell. Jeans hastily picked up the knife and drew her own. "Hello, Fire. What an unpleasant surprise. You know, I rather thought it might be you."

Fire growled and flung herself at Jeans, who side-stepped and landed a glancing blow on the other girl's shoulder.

Fire collapsed, clutching her shoulder and shrieking.

Jeans nudged her with her boot. "C'mon. Not done yet, surely? You were going to dump my body in a trash can, remember?"

Fire whimpered, "I was just kidding! I really didn't mean it! Please, don't tell Spot?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Please! I'll leave Brooklyn and never come back! Please, I'll do anything you want!"

"Then get up."

Fire stood, warily eyeing the knives. Jeans sighed, wiped them both off on her pants and put her knives away and tucked Fire's in her waistband.

"What are you doing?" Fire asked fearfully.

"I'm going to look at your shoulder. I don't think it's a bad cut, but I better make sure."

"Why aren't you killing me?"

"Because I'm not allowed." Was all the explanation she got. Jeans ripped part of Fire's shirt off and formed a make-shift bandage. "There. That should hold a while."

"Are...are you going to tell Spot?"

"Not unless he asks me."

"I-thanks. I..."

"Fire, just go." Jeans leaned against the wall wearily and watched Fire scurry away.

Jeans sighed and tried to arrange her shirt collar so the thin line of crimson that had blossomed across her throat wouldn't show.

Then she walked to Ray's, half hoping Spot wouldn't be there.

He was, of course. She avoided his eyes and slid into her customary seat next to the door.

Spot slid easily into the seat next to her. "Hey, how was selling?"

Jeans made a face, trying to answer casually, "I didn't wake up till ten, so I got a late start, but I sold a few."

"Mm." He glanced down at her, then his gaze slid further down and his glance sharpened. "Jeans, why is there blood on your pants?"

"Um." She put her hand over the bloodstains. "I tripped and scraped my knee?" She offered hopefully.

"Try again."

"I..."

"Jeans." Spot stood up and unbuttoned the top button of her shirt. "Why is your neck bleeding?"

"Spot, sit down and I'll tell you. Please, it really wasn't too bad, it-"

"Tell me now. No, wait, come here." He grabbed her wrist and dragged her out of the restaurant and into the relative privacy of the alley. "Now tell me." He said, leaning against the wall.

Jeans did, nervously playing with her knife hilt as she waited for his reaction. It wasn't long in coming. As she explained Fire's role, the King of Brooklyn turned and smashed the wall with his fist. "I'm goin' to -"

"Patrick, it's done. She's agreed to leave Brooklyn and leave us alone."

"If she'd do somethin' like try to kill you she'll not keep her promises. From now on you don't go anywhere without me."

Jeans took one look at his face and sighed. He was deadly serious; there would be no talking him out of it for a long while to come.

"Well, we might as well go for a walk while we're outside." She said cheerfully, not wanting to cause yet another scene by going back inside while his temper was still at fever pitch.

Spot looked at her and smiled slowly. "Yes, let's."

Jeans raised her eyebrows at his silky tone, but she took the arm he offered her.

* * *

Me- Oh, he might kick her out yet...you never know. :) Yeah, Jeans was wondering the same thing, but he's quite serious. You'll see. Do you have photographic memory or something? I don't even remember me telling you that...wait, wasn't that chapter ten?


	16. Chapter 16

"So where are we going?" She asked presently.

"For a walk."

"I sensed that. Where are we going on our walk?"

"To a place."

"Honestly, you sound like my brother."

"Is that a compliment?"

"That depends on who you ask."

Spot chuckled.

"So where are we going?" Jeans repeated.

"Thought I answered that."

"Conlon, sometime, I might forget who you are and take a swing at you."

He smirked, and replied, "You'll have to wait and see."

"You really are-"

"Spot!"

A newsies was running towards them, panting. "Not good." Spot muttered. "Jeans, I'll be right back, stay here."

Spot hurried forward to meet the boy and Jeans leaned against the wall, idly playing with her knife.

She was wondering worriedly what the kid was saying to make Spot scowl so when a hand reached out of the dark doorway behind her and something came crashing heavily down on her head.

She fell like a stone, limp hand dropping the knife.

* * *

I know, I know, really short chapter, _and _cliff-hanger. But I should get a new chapter out soon...'cause I just bought a new computer!

Me- yep, they've got stamina to do so much stuff without being too tired.


	17. Chapter 17

Jeans woke with her hands bound behind her back and a massive headache. And Bullseye grinning obnoxiously down at her.

She groaned and closed her eyes again. "I won't say it, I won't say it, I won't - all right, I'll say it. Where am I?"

"In an alley."

"In an alley with you. Things are not looking so good."

"You bet they ain't." Bullseye smirked down at her.

Jeans wondered how a smirk could be irresistible on one person and on another make you want to knock the living daylights out of them.

"So now what happens? And I hope you realize that Spot is going to be furious. He _told _me not to move."

Bullseye looked a bit confused, but he answered her first question, "Now we're going to walk, and don't even think about trying to escape." He jerked her upright with a tug on the rope binding her hands.

She stumbled up. "What I wouldn't give for some lavender oil." She muttered as she tried to ignore her pounding head.

Bullseye prodded her along impatiently, telling her to hurry up whenever she slowed down.

Jeans noted, after about ten minutes of this agony, that they were nearing Selene's house. She was wondering if this fact would be of any use when Bullseye pulled her to a stop, jerked out a dirty strip of cloth and tied it roughly over her eyes.

Then he pushed her along for twenty or so more feet before he stopped her, bent her double and pushed her though a low doorway.

He pulled the rag off and shoved her into a corner. Jeans looked around, then her jaw dropped.

Standing, sitting, and nearly all glaring at her were the other members of Crusher's gang.

Bullseye greeted the biggest one, and then, waving a hand towards Jeans he said, "I need a favah. Keep her here till I talk to Fiah."

"How long will that take?" The boy asked, looking nervously at Jeans, who grinned back savagely.

Bullseye waved a hand, "Shouldn't take long. Fiah oughta be around somewhere, and then we'll come back and take care of her togethah."

"I dunno..."

"Look, I don't care what you do with her, I just need her to stay somewhere till I meet up with Fiah."

"Well," the boy looked Jeans up and down and licked his lips, "I guess I'll take care of her foah you."

Jeans' heart sank. This whole situation stank. Worse than a dead stunk. Worse than Brooklyn in summer.

Bullseye left, tossing her another of his obnoxious smirks as he passed her.

Jeans looked around again. She was in some sort of cellar, and the door she had come in through she now saw was more of a big window. Boxes and crates were scattered around, a deck of cards and some dice were on one of them, the game abandoned since Jeans had come in.

Meanwhile, all the boys seemed to be arguing about something, listening, Jeans was gratified to learn she was the subject of their discussion.

"Bill," one of them was remonstrating, "don't mess wid Spot Conlon."

"How do you know she's got anything to do wid him?"

"She was here wid him yesterday."

"Yeah! And I owe 'er one." Bill growled, touching his bandaged shoulder and sending Jeans a glare.

"Hey, don't mess her up till I have some fun." The first (and biggest) boy interposed.

A kid, about nine or ten crept closer to where Jeans lay half sitting and half lying against the wall.

Jeans smiled at him. "Hey. You Bob's brother?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Spot told me you were in this gang. What's your name?"

"John. Or kid. That's what they all call me." He jerked his head at the boys at the other end of the room.

"John, who's in charge? With Bob, uh, not here?"

"Buck. He's the biggest one."

The one that wanted to 'have some fun'. Drat.

"Will they do what he wants?"

The boy shrugged. "Maybe. Bill's pretty mad at you, though, for soaking him. The boys have been teasing him about getting soaked by a girl."

Suddenly Buck cursed loudly. "I was s'posed to meet Rilk ten minutes ago. Jerk, keep 'er safe for me." He hurried out, giving Jeans a kick and a leer as he passed her.

One of the gang saw John near Jeans and told him to scram. The kid jumped and scuttled away quickly.

Jeans shut her eyes and tried to plan. Obviously, she'd have to wait till the gang was asleep and hopefully - she shuddered - hopefully Buck wouldn't be back tonight.

She opened her eyes hurriedly as rough hands pulled her upright to see Bill grinning at her unpleasantly. "My turn now, sweetface, to teach you bettah manners."

"Can I monologue for a really long time first to give someone a chance to sneak up behind you and knock you over the head?" Jeans asked hopefully.

Buck glanced behind him and then turned back to Jeans, looking confused.

Jeans sighed. "Never mind. It's not like anyone knows where I am anyway."

* * *

Spot stared at the knife on the ground. Without looking up, he snapped to Oriole, "Get a message to all the birds around here. Find Bullsye and Fire and shadow them. One of them took Jeans; I want to know where she is."

The boy ran off. In one fluid motion Spot bent, picked up the knife, tucked it in his belt and strode down the street.

_Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, - _ah! Spot smiled in satisfaction as Cat appeared in front of him. "Well?"

"It was Bullseye that took her. I got Rook trailing him. We're looking for Fire."

"Just follow Bullseye for now. I want to know who he talks to, where he takes her, and what he wants."

Cat nodded and left. Ten minutes later she was back, panting. "Spot, you'd better come quick. Fire and Bullseye are heading back to kill Jeans. Bullseye left her with Crusher's gang. One of them wants to beat her up; he's saying something about paying her back."

She hadn't finished before Spot was running down the street, praying God to keep her safe till he got there.

* * *

Slightly longer chapter for you chaps! Drop a line and let me know what you think. (I really need to stop leaving off at cliffhangers...


	18. Chapter 18

Nothing of note to say. Oh! Except, I did put a small note about 'courting' at the end of chapter 13, so you might want to check that out. It's to explain why I say courting. Instead of dating.

* * *

Buck pulled Jeans over to a post in the middle of the room, untied her hands, put them around the post and tied them again.

Jeans, watching her hands as he did this _exciting_ job, saw bloodstains on the floor. "So this is your whipping post. Come on, it's not the middle ages anymore, so why don't you just -"

She winced as Buck landed a hate-laced blow on the side of her face. "Shut up."

"I get the picture," she muttered, tasting blood.

She saw him pull back for the next blow and shut her eyes and clenched her teeth in anticipation of the next blow.

Only to open them again in stunned relief as a familiar voice said coldly, "Buck, you just made a huge mistake."

Spot, with great dispatch, punched Buck in the jaw, then knocked him over the head with his cane. The boy went out without a sound.

Spot then turned to Jeans, cut the ropes around her hands, and pulled her into a tight hug. "You all right?" He asked, voice rough.

"Bruised and sore and hungry, but alive and _very_ glad to see you."

"You are not ever getting out of my sight again."

Jeans smiled and said, voice muffled against his chest, "You might have a hard time keeping that promise."

He released her. "Why?"

She grinned at him impishly. "Well, I do have to sleep sometime, you know."

He studied her with the most innocent expression on his face, "Why should that make such a difference?

"You know Dash is awfully strict about things like that. I don't think she'll let you sit in the girls' room by my bed all night." She slid him another grin, "Much as I should like it. For the matter of that, you have to sleep sometimes too."

"Maybe I'll just have to sleep with one eye open," he said, very solemnly.

Jeans laughed and impulsively gave him a hug. "You're sweet." Then she put her hand over her mouth. "I cannot believe I just said you were sweet!"

"Why not?" Spot looked offended. "I'm very sweet."

She hastily tried to explain, "I - that's not what I meant, I - it, what I _did_ -"

He snickered and put his arm around her. "You're adorable when you're flustered. Come on, let's go home."

* * *

That night, Jeans consumed two hearty bowls of soup, three slices of bread, and a glass of ginger ale, told the story of How She Came to be Captured and Of Her Subsequent Rescue (While her wrists were being bandaged and face taken care of (there was a huge purple bruise on it. Spot had only just been restrained from going back and, well, you don't want to know what)) and argued that she did _not _need to go to bed.

Spot, who was sitting beside her on the couch, told her in no uncertain terms that she did, and sent her off immediately. Ignoring all her objections and -ahem- _reasonable_ arguments.

Then after she had gone, grumbling that she wasn't the _least_ bit tired (while smothering a yawn), Spot pulled Dash aside and they talked.

It ended with Dash throwing up her hands and saying, "Fine, whatevah, but you have to move the whole ting out here. I'm not encour'ging everyone else."

And Spot grinned and said that was just fine.

Later that night, a figure slipped into the girls' bunk room, went stealthily to Jeans' bed, picked her up out of it and went silently out again.

He carried her down the stairs, carefully cradled in his arms, and into the main room, where he deposited her on the couch.

Then Spot stretched himself on the floor beside it, gently took her hand in his own, and settled down for the night.

Did you know, Reader, that it actually is physically possible to sleep with your eyes open?

* * *

What say you? Is there enough flurffyness to please thee?

I do hope to update soon-ish.

Vocab:

Dispatch: deal with an opponent quickly and efficiently

Subsequent: coming after something


	19. Chapter 19

When Jeans woke up next morning she found him smirking down at her, as alert and awake as ever.

She jerked awake. "Spot Conlon, you didn't!"

He looked supremely innocent. "Didn't what?"

"You did."

"I told you I wasn't letting you out of my sight," he said smugly, "come on." He pulled her off the couch.

"Wait, where?"

"To sell papes? As in, we're newsies, remember?"

"Thanks for that stab at my sanity, but you mean we're going to sell together?"

"Of course."

Jeans looked startled and hesitant. "That stinks."

"Why?"

"Because you'll show up my skills at selling."

"Maybe I can teach you something," he smirked.

"Uh-huh. Can I wash up first?" She stood up and yawned.

"Yeah, but do it in the kitchen."

Jeans rolled her eyes, but obeyed. "You're making me nervous," she complained as, face dripping, she reached for a towel, "standing over me all the time."

"Get used to it."

She paused in drying her face and glanced at him.

Then she smiled slowly.

And tossed the towel on the counter.

And took off out the door as fast as she could.

Pausing only to grab his cane and hat, Spot was after her.

Jeans tore past the docks and the park and the dingy apartment complexes and risked a glance behind her as she paused in the alley next to a laundromat.

Spot was nowhere in sight. She sighed in relief and sagged against the wall, only to yelp and stumble backwards as Spot appeared in front of her.

He advanced, smirking. "So you thought you could run away from the King of Brooklyn."

Jeans hurriedly backed away again. "Well, it was worth a shot. Besides, you needed the exercise."

"Did I." He advanced again, and Jeans found herself backed against the wall.

"I thought you did," she murmured, trying to sidle out along the wall. It didn't work.

Strong arms pinned her firmly to the soot-stained bricks and blue eyes laughed at her. "So what is a king to do with a would-be runaway?"

"Uh..." Jeans' eyes were very wide.

"I'll tell you. There was a tradition in the middle ages. Whenever a servant would run away, they would catch him, bring him back and tie him to his master for a year and a day."

Her eyes widened even more, if such a thing were possible. "You wouldn't."

He reached into his pocket. "Oh, I would."

"I'm not your serv-" then her mouth formed a perfect 'O' as she caught sight of what he pulled out.

It wasn't a piece of rope, as she had feared (she knew he was entirely capable of it), it was a small, plain metal band. In short, a ring.

"Is this..." she looked up at him questioningly. "Are you...is this a proposal?"

"How else would I keep an eye on you forever?"


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: I am writing a chapter telling what Spot did about Fire and Bullseye, so if any of you would like to read it, pm me and I'll get it to you. I'm not going to post it because it rather detracts from the story.

* * *

A week later...

"Jeans, I have a question," Spot said over her calls of 'TR Settles Railroad Strike'. He had, naturally, already sold all his one hundred fifty papes, and was leaning against a tree watching her sell the rest of her seventy.

"What?" Jeans brushed her hair out of her eyes.

"You want a big wedding?"

"Nooo, why?"

"Oh, I just was wondering if we could get married today."

She almost dropped her papes. "What?"

"I said," he repeated, taking her papes from her hand, "can we get get married today?"

"Well...let me think about it." She sat down under the tree and thought as she watched Spot, with easy suavity, sell her last ten papers to a crowd of ladies.

He was back in well under five minutes. "Well?" he demanded.

"Have you ever found it hard to be a newsie and keep a clear conscience?" Jeans demanded in turn.

"You mean not lying about the headlines and stuff?"

"Yeah."

"Sometimes. Generally, though, if you work the same spot, the people get to know you, and they know you won't lie, they like that, so they buy from you. There are more ways than one to sell papes, you know."

"That's what I thought."

"Jeans, have you been thinking about _that_ instead of-"

"I think I should tell my sister," she interrupted, "but I would love to get married today."

"Good." Smirk. "But I'm not going to tell my sister."

"Why not?"

"'Cause she'd start worrying about money and jobs and houses and things like that."

"Well, um, _have_ you got someplace for us to stay? Or are we just going back to the lodging house."

Spot looked at her and smiled slowly. "I've got somewhere for us to stay."

"Wonderful. What about the license? And witnesses?"

"I've got the license. I don't want all of Brooklyn at the wedding, so we can get Racetrack or Cowboy or something, and then your sister for witnesses."

"All right, then. I'll go tell my sister, and you can get Cowb-"

"No. We'll go together to get both of them." He interrupted, taking her hand firmly in his.

Jeans opened her mouth to protest, but she suddenly stopped and just stood there, looking at him. "You know," she said slowly, "you really are impossibly attractive."

With a quick move, Spot pulled her to him, "Do you have any idea how hard you are making it not to kiss you?"

Jeans looked up at him, lips parted in patent astonishment. "Me?"

"No, sorry, Medda," he said sarcastically, "Yes, you, you goose! Now would you please come marry me so I can?"

Jeans looked down and blinked demurely. "Well, I don't know. It seems like a good opportunity for you to practice waiting patien-"

"All right, woman, that is it!" Swiftly catching her up, Spot strode down the street, turning a deaf ear to her pleas for mercy.

He didn't put her down till they were standing on her sister's steps.

With a haughty look for Spot, Jeans knocked on the door.

There was the same quick scurry of feet, but this time Ella answered the door. "Eva! how wonderful to see you again! Come in, come - who is this?"

"Um," Jeans pulled Spot in after her, "he's one of my co-workers and, um, my fiancé."

"Your _what_?" Ella looked absolutely stunned.

"My fiancé. And we're going to be married today, so we were wondering if -"

"You are going to _what!"_ If Ella had been stunned before she was shell-shocked now.

Jeans gave up. "Is Jane here?"

"Uh, oh yes. Charles," she turned to the small boy, who was staring enraptured at Spot and said, "go get your mother and tell her Eva is here."

Ella turned back to them. "So, who are you?" She asked Spot bluntly.

"He's -"

"Spot Conlon, miss, at your service."

"Spo- excuse me, Mr. Conlon, can I talk to Eva for a second? Thank you." Ella dragged Jeans over to a corner. "_Spot Conlon_?You're going to marry _Spot Conlon_?"

"Oh, so you've heard of him."

"Heard of - Eva, every girl in New York has heard of Spot Conlon. Usually they're being warned to stay away from him. And then you show up and tell me you're -"

"Eva!"

Jeans whirled around and saw her oldest sister in the doorway. "Jane!" She ran to meet her. "It's so good to see you! Oh, this is Spot Conlon, my fiancé. We're going to be married today." Having thus broken all the dreadful news at once, Jeans waited for the storm to break.

Instead of looking angry or even surprised, though, Jane just looked amused. "Oh, really?" She moved past Jeans and held out her hand. "Good to meet you, Mr. Conlon. I'm afraid your reputation had preceded you."

Spot bent and kissed her hand. "Has it?" He asked silkily.

Jeans punched him on the shoulder. "Quit in, Conlon."

He rubbed his shoulder and gave her an injured look. "I was only trying to be polite," he complained.

"Uh, huh." Jeans turned back to Jane. "So we were wondering if you'd come to the wedding.

"Well, Ella can go, but I had better stay home. I, well,"

Jeans really looked at her sister for the first time and noted her unwonted girth. "Jane! You're, why, how much longer?"

"Six months." Jane rested her hand on her swollen stomach and smiled proudly.

"How wonderful! Wh-"

"Excuse me." Spot stepped forward and pulled Jeans into his arms. "This is all very exciting, but not really what I'm interesting in right now, so could we please-"

Jeans tilted her head up against his chest to frown at him. "I knew you needed to practice being patient."

He frowned back down at her. "And I told you I _don't_. So let's go. Unless," he whispered threateningly in her hear, "you want us to leave like we came.."

"Well, bye Jane, so nice to have seen you; enjoy the baby, come on, Ella."

She pulled her bewildered sister out the door and started briskly (on her own two feet) down the street.

Ella was still looking flabbergasted. "Eva, where is this wedding? And who else is coming?"

"We'll be married at our church, of course, and - Spot!" she stopped dead. "You have talked to Pastor Thomsen, haven't you?"

"Of course."

"Good." She sighed in relief, then looked at him suspiciously. "How did you know I would agree on today?"

"Because I knew I couldn't wait any longer."

Jeans glanced at him, unsure if he was joking or not.

Then she hastily looked ahead again. The intense, almost hungry look in his eyes was highly unsettling.

* * *

All right, peoples. This story has 1,670 hits, but only 84 reviews. So I have a request. IF you are reading this and have not heretofore reviewed, could you please? Jus' say 'hi'. Or something. To let me know how many are actually reading this. Thanks!

Me- Certainly, they have only been dating two days, but they have been friends for much longer, and I guess Spot figured since he already knew he wanted to marry her, why wait? He's an impatient chap. :-) Have a good day, love, and say hello to everyone for me.


	21. Chapter 21

I know it's short, but I should have more up soon[er]. Some of you have inquired as to their ages; Spot is almost 18, Jeans is almost 17. Young to marry, perhaps, by today's standards, but kids grew up faster then. They had to.

* * *

"So, um, I always heard," Ella began cautiously, "that Brooklyn was a dangerous place to be walking around back alleys in."

Spot tossed her a smirk. "Yeah, but you're with me now, doll. Nothing happens to you I won't know about."

"You just knowing about me getting attacked in some alley isn't very comforting; I'd rather you did something to stop it." Ella replied pointedly.

Jeans laughed at Spot's disgruntled look and he grumbled at her, "Jeans, you got a mean sister."

"'Jeans'?" Ella asked, raising an eyebrow.

"My name. Remember, _Cocky_?"

Ella blushed and changed the subject. "So where are we going again?"

"Manhattan." Spot answered, "gonna get one of Jacky boy's newsies to be another witness."

"Eva! I, um, can I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"I...I really don't want to go to the lodging house."

"Well, all right." Jeans gave her sister a puzzled look. "You can just stay outside and we'll-"

"No, I don't even want to go to the same street. Please, Eva. It...it's complicated."

"I'll talk to Spot." Jeans caught up with him and Ella heard only snatches of their -ahem- conversation.

"No! You know I said..."

"...please, it's just..."

"...I can't know..."

"...only a block..."

Finally Spot sighed and shrugged. "All right, but Cat's going to go with you."

"Fine." Jeans looked pleased.

When they got to Manhattan, Spot and Ella stopped a block away, and Jeans, with Cat following unseen, went on to the lodging house.

* * *

Me- Of course, darling, you needn't review every chapter. I understand, and whenever you want to, go right ahead. I love hearing from you. (Yes, it would be incredibly awkward. :-))


	22. Chapter 22

Halting just inside the door, Jeans scanned the room for either Racetrack or Cowboy.

She spotted Race, he was sitting (as usual) at a table playing cards, a cigar in his mouth.

Jeans hurried over to him. "Hey, Race, can I talk to you for a second?"

"Suah." He mumbled around the cigar, "I'll be there in a sec." He didn't even look up to see who it was.

Jeans sighed and leaned against the wall, waiting. As soon as the the game was over, she grabbed the Italian by the shoulder and dragged him outside.

He squinted at her, "Jeans? What are you doing here?"

"I need a favor," Jeans hastily explained what she wanted.

"Sorry, but I got an appointment wid da races."

"Race, remember the first time I came here?"

"Yeah..."

"You recall all those girls hanging around you?"

"Yeah..."

"And how I got rid of them, along with..." she leaned forward and whispered something.

He turned the strangest shade of green and capitulated. "Yeah, I'll come. Let me get somethin' real quick."

Jeans got a sinking feeling, but she followed him back into the lodging house.

"Hey Race! You coming back?" His partner called, drumming the card table impatiently.

"Nah, I'm goin' somewhere, you'll hafta finish widout me, Blink."

"Goin' somewhere?" The kid with the patch asked, grinning. "Wid a goil?" He whistled.

Jeans groaned inwardly as more newsies joined in, teasing Race about not telling them he had a girl, and if he could get them a date.

"SHUT UP!" Race yelled, "Dis is Spot's goil!"

Instant silence descended, and those nearest Jeans edged away.

Jeans groaned (out loud, this time) and dragged Racetrack out the door. "Did you have to tell them that?"

"Why?" he smirked at her. "You ashamed, or somethin'?"

Jeans disregarded this last question as unworthy of an answer. "I didn't know they were so afraid of him."

"Spot?" Race looked at her in amusement. "You haven't hoid da rumours, den?"

"What rumors?"

"They say you single-handedly beat up Crusher's old gang, bested Fire aftah she ambushed you, gave Bullseye the soakin' of his life, and made dem both leave New Yoik."

"What!"

"S' true. Like it or not, you're up wid Spot now on da list of people to stay on their good side."

Jeans rolled her eyes. "Honestly, it wasn't that big of a fight. Nothing to what Spot's done. At least, if his stories are to be believed. Come on, Spot's waiting."

They rounded the corner and Jeans flew straight into Spot's arms. Then, remembering her sister, she turned to introduce her to Racetrack.

"Ella, this is a friend of ours, Racetrack Higgins. Race, this is my sister Ella."

Race's mouth was open and he looked, truth be told, like a stranded fish. "_Ella?_" He finally stammered.

"Oh, you know each other already." Jeans said, looking back and forth between them in a puzzled way.

"Ella, where have you been?" Race demanded, ignoring everyone else.

"I couldn't come! I tried, honestly I did, but first I was sick, and then Jane -"

"Why didn't you come tell me? Or let me know somehow?"

"There wasn't any time! And after our fight, I didn't even know if you wanted me to come or not."

"What in the world is going on?" Jeans demanded, frowning.

"Ella's been-" Race started, then Ella interrupted, "No, I want to tell."

She took a deep breath. "Eva, I've been going with Race to the track for nearly a year now. Jane doesn't know, she thinks I'm visiting one of my friends. Two weeks ago Race and I fought about something and I flounced off. Obviously, he didn't know where to find me, and I was too proud to go tell him I was sorry. So." she flung her head back somewhat defiantly. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Right now?" Jeans shook her head. "Are you sorry?"

"Of course!"

"Then tell Race, and tell Jane as soon as you get home. All right? Good. Now let's go."

Jeans turned and began walking without waiting to see if they were following or not, pulling Spot around with her. He murmured out of the corner of his mouth, "Masterfully handled."

"Thanks. I _have_ had sixteen years of practice. Are they coming?"

Spot glanced back casually. "Yeah. Arguing, but coming."

Jeans stifled a laugh. "Ella loves arguing. It's one of her favorite things to do, so I really hope Race likes it."

"As long as he can bet on who wins the argument."


	23. Chapter 23

Once they got to the church, Spot introduced everyone all round and Pastor Thomson began the ceremony.

During the ceremony Jeans found whenever her eyes wandered off the pastor to Spot (which was often) his eyes were on hers with that same overwhelming intensity, and she had to look at the pastor again for all of three seconds before she looked back at Spot.

I'm afraid, Reader, that they were both grinning idiotically the whole ceremony long.

As soon as the pastor pronounced the closing words Spot drew Jeans to him and kissed her.

A couple minutes later the pastor surreptitiously poked Spot and the leader pulled back reluctantly. Jeans took a couple deep breaths. "I love you," she whispered.

"Jeans," he said in no uncertain tones, "you have no idea how much I love you."

"I'm sure I'll find out." Jeans tossed him a smirk and turned to Racetrack. "Hey, I hate to ask you to do any more, but could you go to the lodging house and tell them we won't be back for...uh, for a while?"

"Quite a while." Spot interposed, kissing her again.

"Right. We'll just...uh, go now." Race grabbed Ella's arm and pulled her door-wards.

Spot turned to Pastor Thomson. "Thank you very much, sir."

"It was my pleasure. I'll see you both on Sunday, yes?" The man smiled as he turned to go back to his office.

Spot looked back at Jeans. "Finally." He murmured, "let's go."

* * *

Reader, I'm very sorry I can't tell you any more, but Spot has promised horrible things if go any further, so I'm afraid I'll have to stop here.

I hope you've enjoyed the reading of this document as much as I've enjoyed telling it.

God keep you all, my friends,

_The Authoress_

_

* * *

_

Well, the end has come, my friends. Thank you so much for your encouraging feedback and ongoing support. Thank you to whomever voted for me in the NYNA 2010 Winter Awards - I won first place for the best 'Humor' fic. You guys are awesome!

Keep an eye out for a series of oneshots I'm going to do, centered around Spot and Jeans after they're married. (Because it isn't all happily ever after). See you then! ~ Eavis


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